Through the Years
by wishingstar21
Summary: He's a wealthy pureblood heir with a prejudiced father. She's a muggle-born witch. One in Slytherin, one in Gryffindor. One with ties to the wrong side, one who fights for the light. But through the years, they have a friendship that can only be called unique. Dramione, what might have been. *on hiatus*
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and therefore everything in this fanfiction that you recognize.**

CHAPTER ONE

"Are you ready?" Draco nodded seriously at his mother, staring at the brick that he knew would open the door to a world. Lucius drew his wand, and tickled it. As the brick began to wiggle, Draco closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened his eyes again, it was right there in front of him.

Diagon Alley.

Draco Malfoy smiled as he breathed in the life of the place, lined with stores and crowded with students and parents doing their back to school shopping. He pushed his shoulders back and puffed up before marching forward, flanked by his parents. This year, he wasn't coming with a governess or his mother to get an ice cream and people watch. This year, he would be one of the people shopping. He grinned up at his mother, and she sneaked a smile back. Lucius offered his arm to Narcissa, and the family of three paraded down the alley.

"Where do you want to go first, Draco?" Narcissa asked, smiling at her eleven-year-old son.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies!" he said excitedly, looking up at her with wide eyes. "They have a new broom, Mum, it's supposed to be even faster than the other models! Puddlemere United is going to buy them for the whole team, and so is Ireland's team, and Scotland's team…"

Narcissa laughed. "Well, if everyone is going to have one, so will you."

"No one in his year will have one, Narcissa," Lucius broke into their conversation. "You're a first year, Draco. First years aren't allowed brooms, as you well know. Wait until next year, when you'll be able to bring it to school. I'm sure they'll have come out with the next latest, greatest model by then."

Draco visibly wilted, not meeting his father's eyes.

"Where's the list, Narcissa?" Mr. Malfoy asked briskly. "We should get this done as quickly as possible."

Narcissa fumbled in her reticule, drawing out the crisp parchment. Draco's eyes followed his letter as his father took it. The man scanned it, then gave it back to Narcissa.

"Well," he said. "Narcissa, why don't you go look at wands. I'll go get the boy's books, and Draco, you go get your robes. It's a simple enough task, I'm sure you'll be able to do it on your own." His tone left no room for argument.

Draco's parents separated in front of Madame Malkin's, Narcissa moving back up the street, and Lucius stalking into Flourish and Blott's. Draco was left alone in front of the robe-maker's shop.

As he perused the window display, Lucius aimed an admonition like glare at his son. Draco stiffened and turned to march into Malkin's shop. Before he could, the door flew open, and a family came out. All three had brown hair, the adults with glasses, the daughter with huge teeth that Draco couldn't miss. How could he, when her mouth was wide open, gabbling away.

"I know we still have to get the school books, Mum, but do you think I could have whatever is left over? I wanted to get some extras, heaven knows it will be hard enough to start a new school, don't you think I should know something about the culture? Of course, we don't know how much anything costs yet, but I already have my wand, and that's the most important thing, don't you agree? But again, wands are nothing without books to learn spells from, which brings us back to the assigned books and extra reading…"

Draco stared as they passed by. It didn't seem that the girl even needed to breathe; he didn't think she stopped for a single breath. Shaking his head, he walked into the shop she had just exited. What an incredible swot, he thought, she'll have no friends.

Still, even though he tried to dismiss her and her family, the image of the three brown-haired people, walking up the street with their arms about each other stayed with him as he greeted Madame Malkin and began to fit his robes.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She had always been the outsider, always been the nerd, the swot that no one wanted to be friends with. No one understood how _fun_ school was, how she could even want to go back, miss it. Most people skipped whenever they could, but not Hermione. She was there every possible day.

So when Minerva McGonagall appeared at her front door with a letter, Hermione was excited.

Her parents were more skeptical. _Are you sure_ , they asked the professor. _Are you sure there's no mistake?_

But she knew it, knew in her heart of hearts that it was true. She, Hermione Granger, was a witch.

She thought it explained everything, from her social awkwardness to her amazing grades. She convinced herself to study harder, and convinced her parents to buy her extra books from the wizarding bookstore. A _wizard's bookstore_. It was a dream come true for Hermione, who could never have enough books. Her parents got her the books, smiling at each other over her head at their daughter's excitement.

The rest of summer was a blur. She memorized all the textbooks, eyes wide in wonder at every single thing that was mentioned. She read the histories, not understanding half the words, words that included _pureblood_ , _half-blood_ , _blood traitor_ , _blood-status_ , _muggle-born_. Her parents were muggles. She was a witch. It was as simple as that.

She woke her parents up at 6 AM on September 1st.

"Hogwarts today!" was the constant refrain as she said last minute good-byes to her cat, to the bird, to the next-door neighbor who tolerated her but wasn't exactly a friend.

She would have friends, real friends, once she got to Hogwarts. She knew it. She could feel it in her bones.

"Platform Nine…Hermione, the next one is Platform Ten. There is no 'nine-and-three-quarters'," Mr. Granger said, scratching the back of his head.

"Don't you remember, Daddy?" she asked impatiently. "We have to run at the barrier. Magic, remember?"

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged a look over their daughter's head. "Look, honey," Mr. Granger said, crouching down to Hermione's level. "It's hard for Mummy and I to see that there's magic here. We've been here before, remember when we went to visit Grandma in Wiltshire? There's never been anything between Platform Nine and Platform Ten. I commute to work every day. I'd notice if they were doing construction or anything."

"But it's _magic_ ," Hermione pleaded. "Perfectly safe. You wouldn't have noticed, you're a muggle, remember?" She looked at her mum. "You'll come with me, right, Mum?"

Mrs. Granger smiled wanly at her daughter. She kneeled beside her husband.

"Hermione," she whispered, blinking back tears. "Hermione, you're _special_. You're magic, and we…we're not. I think it's best if Daddy and I stay on this side of the barrier. Let's say our good-byes here."

Hermione's bottom lip trembled. This wasn't what was supposed to happen…her parents were supposed to say good-bye on the Platform, and wave at her as the train pulled out of the station. That was what happened in all of her school books…She looked back and forth between her father and mother's worried faces. She gulped, hoping it wasn't actually as loud as it sounded in her head.

"Okay," she whispered waterily. "Bye Mum, bye Dad…"

They hugged her.

"Be good at school, kid…"

"Show them your Granger smarts."

"We love you. We'll watch you go from here."

"Love you," Hermione said, drawing away and leaning on her trolley to push it forward. After a few steps, she wondered if maybe she had packed one too many books. Her trunk was more than a little bit heavy. _One day I'll have magic to do this_ , she thought as she broke into a run, racing at the barrier.

She kept her eyes open the whole time, watching the wall draw closer and closer, refusing to cringe back or swerve to avoid a collision. _That's what a muggle would do_ , she told herself, boosting her nerve. _And I'm not a muggle. I'm a witch._

Hermione watched as the wall shimmered before her eyes, before turning into a smoke that she easily passed through. Coming out on the other side, she gaped at the different Platform. Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, a sign said.

"I did it!" she squealed. "I'm here!" She jumped up and down a few moments, before quieting. Returning to her much too heavy trunk, she pulled it off the trolley and made her way to the train.

Finding a compartment was easy…she was obviously one of the first ones there, and most of them were empty. Huffing, she attempted to lift her trunk up onto the rack.

"Here, let me help you with that," a voice said, enunciating each word perfectly.

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione gasped, pushing her hair out of her face. A pale pair of hands helped her lift her trunk up onto the rack.

"Merlin, what do you have in that thing?" the boy who had helped her panted, pushing his hair out of his face.

"Books," she answered breathlessly. "Lots of them. I don't think I should pack as many next time…"

"Yeah, that might make it easier," the boy drawled. Straightening, he held out a hand.

"Malfoy," he said, then paused, clearly waiting for a reaction. When she just looked at him, he continued on. "Draco Malfoy."

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I'm Hermione," she said, shaking his hand.

He made a face. "I don't like being called that. 'Mr. Malfoy.' Makes me think my dad's right behind me, and that's who they're talking to." He paused. "Do you have a last name, Hermione?"

"As a matter of fact," she said mischievously, "I do."

He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly expecting her to tell him. She just flopped back onto one of the seats, and looked at him.

He was fairly pretty, she thought. Beautiful hair. White blond, almost translucent, although the effect was taken away from a little bit by the slicked back hairstyle he wore, which made his pointy chin and nose even more pronounced. But he had nice eyes, and that made up for the pointiness. Hermione had a terrible weakness for eyes.

"Are you quite done?" he asked, growing tired of her inspection. "Or would you like me to spin around so you can examine my backside as well?" he added flippantly.

Hermione reddened, and his cheeks became pink as well as he realised what he had implied. "So," he cleared his throat. "Last name?"

"I don't think I'm going to tell you," the girl said contemplatively. "You put so much store in surnames."

"Really?" He joined her on the seat, aiming for a nonchalant pose. "And you think that why?"

"Most people would say their given name first," she said, leaning back. "But you started with your surname. You seem like one of those people to always call people by their last names, too. So, to cure you of that, you only get to know my first name."

She smirked at the boy. He looked at her, emotionless, for a moment, before cracking a smile. "You're a Slytherin for sure," he said decidedly.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "No, I don't think so," she said. "You see, I'm a…"

She was interrupted by stomping steps, coming straight toward her compartment. "What's that?" she asked in alarm.

Draco smirked at her expression. "Oh, it's probably just Crabbe and Goyle."

She raised her eyebrows. "Probably?"

Draco shrugged. "Or a couple of elephants, but I think those two are a fair guess."

"Malfoy!" Goyle said as he entered the compartment. "I'm here. Crabbe too."

"Well, I can see that," Draco said wryly as the two large boys put their trunks up. Hermione had shrunk in her seat as the two came in.

"Who's that?" Crabbe sneered at her as he took a seat.

"This is Hermione with the last name she won't tell us," Draco told him. "She's fine."

"Drakey!" a high-pitched voice squealed in the corridor.

Draco stiffened as Hermione looked even more bemused. "Anything you want to tell me, gentlemen?" he growled.

Hermione shook with suppressed laughter as the two huge boys knuckled down to the small, pale one.

"Pansy might have followed us," Goyle muttered. Draco groaned and threw his head against the seat.

"C'mere." He pulled Hermione from her side of the seat they were sharing over so she was pressed up against him.

"What are you doing?!" she hissed.

"I'm doing nothing," he said quietly. "You're saving me."

"From what?" she asked, more interested now.

"Drakey!"

The compartment door was flung open, and another first year stepped in, dressed in fashionable robes and kitten heels. Draco cringed, and Hermione inspected the girl. "What's so bad?" she whispered to Draco.

"Hey, Pansy," he croaked. "How are you?"

"Wonderful, Drakey…" she trailed off as she noticed Hermione. "Who's she?"

"This is Hermione," Draco said, patting the girl's curly hair. He hoped Pansy didn't notice how she stiffened at his touch.

"With no last name," Crabbe supplied.

"Not one she's telling us," Goyle finished.

"Probably a half-blood," Pansy sniffed, talking about Hermione as if the girl was invisible. She sat down in a seat, and fluffed out her skirt, posing prettily.

"Actually," Hermione began, "I'm not a…"

The compartment door banged open yet again, and Draco moaned. A pudgy boy fell in through the door, and quickly picked himself up.

"Hi, I…" He stopped as Crabbe and Goyle stood up, towering over him. "I…I'm looking for a toad…" he ended in a whisper.

"Oh dear, you've lost your toad?" Pansy snickered, wrinkling her nose up in an unpleasant way.

"No big loss," Draco said.

Hermione glared at him. "Where did you see him last?" she asked the boy.

"The compartment…" he whispered.

"Well, why don't we go check there first," she said. She looked back at Malfoy, as if she was expecting him to come along. He stared back at her as if she were crazy.

"Are you mad?" he asked. "You'll never find the slimy thing!"

While they had been talking, the boy had slowly inched his way out of the compartment.

"Well," Hermione said, face flushed. "I'm going to go help him anyway."

"I take it back," Malfoy said lazily as she stepped over Crabbe and Goyle's legs to get to the door. "No Slytherin. Probably a bleeding heart Hufflepuff."

His minions laughed, but Hermione didn't even turn around. Putting her hand behind her back, she flipped him the V before exiting the compartment. Draco laughed delightedly, then frowned. She got under his skin, and he still didn't know her last name.

"Pansy," he called. He patted the seat next to him. "Come sit with me."

Her instant gratification boosted his ego considerably.

"First year, and you've already got a girl following you, Malfoy," Blaise Zabini snickered as he slammed into their compartment.

"Two girls," Crabbe grunted.

"Oh?" Zabini raised perfectly shaped eyebrows. "And the other?"

"Awful, bushy-haired thing," Pansy sneered. "With teeth the size of dinner plates."

"No need to be nasty," Draco muttered under his breath. Pansy ignored him, continuing.

"I think she looks rather like a beaver." She sniffed, grabbing Draco's hand. "She'll be in Hufflepuff for sure."

"Slytherin," Draco said, in barely a whisper.

Hermione intrigued him. She was a bit of a mystery…any other girl, with him helping her with her trunk, would have been simpering and giggling, trying to spin the chance meeting to their advantage. And he hadn't really noticed her teeth…not until Pansy pointed them out.

He sighed, slouching in his chair. Hopefully Hermione with no last name would stop being a mystery soon. He couldn't imagine trying to explain her to his father.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Harry Potter was nice enough, Hermione thought as she moved toward the compartment door. She and Neville Longbottom, the toad boy, had gone back across the train to his compartment, then gone to visit the other compartments. They had stopped when they got to the one with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. It hadn't been a very interesting visit, unless you counted the part where Ronald had failed to do a spell that almost certainly a fake.

"Come along, Neville," she said, opening the compartment door and breezing out. Almost immediately, she bumped into someone she recognized. Draco Malfoy, again. After the goodbye in his compartment, really her compartment, she wasn't sure how happy she was to see the boy.

"Oi, watch where you're going!" Draco said irritably as Hermione exited a compartment and crashed into him. The pudgy boy was following her, and he stumbled, barely regaining his balance in time to prevent a fall.

"Oh, I am sorry," Hermione said, backing up to look him in the eye. "I suppose I wasn't looking. In a bit of a hurry…you didn't happen to see his toad on your way here, did you?"

Draco stared at the girl in disbelief. "You really think I'd be looking for one?"

"Well, you did know Neville was looking for one," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"Neville?" he said blankly. "I don't know a Neville."

"This is Neville," she said, pushing the toadless boy in front of her.

"Oh," Draco said. "We weren't looking for a _toad_. Blaise Zabini said that everyone is saying Harry Potter is in a compartment down here." Though of course, it was a good excuse to go looking for her as well.

"He's in that compartment," she said, pointing to the compartment she had just left. "He's not really that special, to be honest."

"I suppose I just have to find out for myself," Draco said, looking past her. "If you'll excuse me."

He and his goons pushed past her to go to the compartment with the boys. Hermione was quite obliging, he thought as he walked into the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle following behind him. She had pointed out the location of Potter, and he hadn't had to go searching up and down the train for the bothersome boy.

"I'm going to go see the driver," Hermione informed Neville. "I'll see you at school!"

With that, she abandoned the boy in the corridor outside Harry Potter's compartment.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The castle certainly was imposing. Draco stared at it as if he were trying to commit every little detail to memory. Really, the fact that Potter had rejected him, and Hermione had chosen the boat with Potter in it, stung a little bit.

He kept an eye on her as they walked up to the huge door, as they walked into the hall they were told to wait in by Professor McGonagall. ( _A half-blood,_ his father had told him. _Dumbledore's right hand woman_.). As they stood at a stand-still, he made his way up to her.

"Which house," he whispered in her ear. She flinched, and turned to him.

"Must you creep up on me like that," she asked, sounding resigned. He smirked at her, raising his eyebrows as if to say, what do you think?

"I don't know," she said. "About which house. All of them sound perfectly lovely, I don't know which I'd rather be in. Slytherin is right out, of course, what with me being muggle-born and all. They're all blood-purists, or most of them are. I honestly think Ravenclaw would be the best fit, but Gryffindor would be…"

"Wait." Draco held a hand out, stopping her in the middle of her tirade. "Muggle-born? You're _muggle-born?_ " He sounded horrified.

She nodded. "Yes…?" Her voice twisted up at the end, making it sound like a question.

Draco took a large step back in between Crabbe and Goyle, his nose wrinkled. _Muggle-born_. It wasn't possible.

"And your last name?" he said coldly.

"Granger," she said, responding to his cold tone with an even colder one of her own.

"Of course," he sneered. "Muggle-born." He shook his head, still not believing it. " _Muggle-born_." He pushed away from her. Crabbe and Goyle followed him, reserving a sneer for the defamed girl. She watched them go, suddenly understanding.

Malfoy. His father was a blood-purist, or his grandfather had been. She shuddered. Of course he was. Hunching her shoulders, she turned to follow the group into the hall, attaching herself to Harry Potter once again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 _Another generation._

Draco was confused. Did the hat usually talk to those it sorted?

 _I'm sorry?_ He thought at it.

 _That's how I keep track,_ the hat replied _. Yet another Malfoy, bound for Slytherin_.

 _Yes, put me there_ , Draco said firmly.

 _Are you sure?_ The hat said _. You…you could follow in your father's footsteps in Slytherin, that is for sure. But your little muggle-born friend is in Gryffindor._

 _She's not my friend. Put me in Slytherin, please, put me in Slytherin_ , Draco begged desperately.

 _If you're sure_ , the hat said. _Better be_ SLYTHERIN!

The last was shouted out to the hall. Draco sighed with relief, and moved toward his new house's table, disguising his shakiness as best he could.

Hermione watched him. Slytherin. How did she not see it? And…why did it hurt so much that he had rejected her.

She was beginning to lose her hopes for best friends. It was occurring to her that wizarding children were exactly the same as normal children, just with magic.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts…"

Draco opted out of singing, and just watched as the whole school made fools of themselves. He laughed with Zabini at the teachers, standing up there smiling, or, in the case of Professor Snape, scowling furiously. All of them, except for Dumbledore, looked as if they wanted to plug their ears.

"Crazy old duffer," Zabini said.

Draco nodded. Almost against his will, his eyes were drawn to the muggle-born. Hermione Granger. He cringed and looked away. She was singing with fervor, as if they were going to be graded on it.

When the feast was over, he almost decided to seek her out. At the last minute, he turned and followed the Slytherin prefect, putting the bushy-haired girl out of his mind.

Now if only he could forget he had met her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N: First chapter of my attempt at a canon based Dramione. Read and review!**


	2. Chapter 2: First Year, Part II

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and therefore everything in this fanfiction that you recognize.**

CHAPTER TWO: First Year, Part II

She was horrible.

Maybe it was the muggle-born in her, maybe it was just how she was, but Hermione Granger was a know-it-all who always had to be right.

It showed in every class he had with her, with the hand quivering in the air. Draco was surprised she wasn't squealing, "Ooh, pick me, pick me!"

He didn't know why he was watching her. He tried not to. But still, she hadn't disappeared yet. If anything, it had become even harder to ignore her.

He wished she had been a pureblood, or at least a half-blood. Someone who could be in Slytherin. Instead she was in Gryffindor, and she was following Harry Potter around everywhere. Harry Potter! Draco hated that boy even more than he hated the muggle-born. And that was saying something.

He threw himself headlong into battle with the Boy Who Lived. He laughed and talked with his Slytherin friends in the Great Hall. He concentrated on his work in classes. And he managed to push his awareness of her to the back of his mind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione was late. She had meant to leave the library much, much earlier…as it was, she was too close to missing curfew for comfort. Juggling her books and scrolls, she hurried down the corridors and up staircases, making her way toward Gryffindor Tower.

She was just turning a corner when someone going the opposite way knocked her over, books and scrolls and pens spilling all over the hall.

"Merlin, Granger," a horribly familiar voice said. "What on earth are you carrying all this stuff for?"

"I was at the library," she answered, pulling herself to her knees and starting to pick up her things. To her surprise, the person who had knocked her down joined her.

She looked up and caught Draco Malfoy's eyes by accident, losing her train of thought.

"And you thought you'd just bring the whole library back to Gryffindor Tower?" he smirked. "The idiocy of that idea just bowls me over. I don't think any of those brave and gallant warriors can read."

"Speaking of idiocy," she huffed, narrowing her eyes. "A duel? Really?"

He spread out his arms. "No, not really. As you know, I didn't show up. That was a while ago, Granger…although I have to admit, I'm still quite disappointed that your little boyfriends didn't get caught. Speaking of getting caught…did you know Potter has a broom?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's supposed to help us win the Quidditch Cup, which I'm supposed to care about. So I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that."

He snorted. "Sure. Go ahead and pretend, but you don't fool me. You're dying to go and tell a teacher, aren't you?"

Hermione blushed in anger. "I don't know why I'm talking to you. You're a bit of a prat, Malfoy."

"I'm also your first friend here," he replied.

She stepped closer to him, pointing at his chest. "Pureblood," she said. She pointed at herself. "Muggle-born. That 'friendship' didn't last beyond you finding out my last name."

Draco wiped all emotion from his face. "Whatever you believe," he said. "Good day, Miss… _Granger_." He bowed mockingly, then pushed past her ungraciously to continue down the corridor.

She snorted, and continued walking in the opposite direction.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco was heading toward the library when he ran into Neville Longbottom, walking out alone.

The boy irritated him. Neville was a right dunce, never able to get anything right, and in the library? Draco was surprised Longbottom hadn't set half the shelves on fire.

"Lost something, Longbottom?" he drawled. He could hear Crabbe and Goyle cracking their knuckles behind him. "Your memory, perhaps?"

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Longbottom said shakily.

"Maybe he's looking for his toad again," Draco said to Crabbe, and he and Goyle chuckled.

"N…no…" Neville stuttered. He began to back away.

"Wait!" Draco said sharply as the boy turned to go. He drew his wand. "Hang on a second." He pointed his wand at Longbottom. "Locomotor Mortis!" Neville's legs locked together, and he stumbled up so he was leaning against a wall.

Crabbe and Goyle snickered loudly behind him. "I was looking for someone to practice on," he sneered.

Longbottom trembled, not even reaching for his wand, which was visible in his back pocket. "You're not even going to try to fight me?" Draco asked, although he wasn't surprised. "How on _earth_ did you get in Gryffindor?" Neville didn't answer, just stood there, staring at Malfoy. "Thanks for helping, Longbottom." Draco laughed. "It's too bad I don't know the counter-curse."

He began walking back toward the dungeons, Crabbe and Goyle following. The library could wait.

As they walked, he could hear thumping in the corridor behind them. He snickered as he imagined Neville trying to hop back to Gryffindor Tower.

It was irrational, and untrue. No basis in fact at all. But that didn't change that he blamed Longbottom for losing Hermione. Even if she would have been lost to him anyway.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He hated that Weasley had made fun of her for getting the spell right. He hated that he noticed she was upset about it. He hated that he couldn't go after her.

Muggle-born, Draco reminded himself. Mudblood.

He hated that out of the blue, Hermione was best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley after Halloween. He hated that he hadn't been the one to save her from the troll. He hated that he hadn't sent a Christmas present. He hated that he hadn't talked to her since October. He hated that it had been three months, and he hated that he was counting.

He hated that she was so good at ignoring him. Her eyes glided over him in the Great Hall, and he was as good as invisible during Potions and the other classes they had together.

He hated that she was doing it now.

She doesn't even like flying, Draco thought bitterly as he stalked up the stands, looking for Hermione out of the corner of his eye. That much he knew, from the disastrous flying lesson that had gotten Potter on his House's Quidditch team. Potter. He was the only reason she was there.

He took a seat behind Weasley, knocking into the boy as much as possible.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

He grinned at the two boys who followed him around everywhere. With them backing him up, he began talking. Talking and talking and talking, trying and trying to get her to turn around, to say something, even if it was to yell at him.

But she was doing what she was good at, she was pretending he wasn't there.

And she still ignored him, even when Longbottom talked back to him.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy."

No, he wasn't. Neville couldn't do the simplest spells, the simplest potions. He tripped over his feet every single time he tried to walk up a staircase.

Draco knew Longbottom wasn't worth one of a Malfoy.

"If brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

"Ron- Harry!"

Hermione interrupted Ron's clumsy threat, and they both watched as the Boy Who Lived dove toward the ground.

Draco felt something inside him twinge as he found himself looking at the back of their heads as they willed their friend to win.

"You're in luck, Weasley. Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" he snapped, and Ron tackled him.

 _If this doesn't get her attention_ , he thought, _what will?_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione hadn't noticed Malfoy until Harry had hushed them, pointing the Slytherin out. Then she back tracked, as she was apt to do when she noticed the blond boy staring at her.

 _What had she been saying?_

 _What had she been doing_?

More importantly, _had she been staring at him, too?_

No to the last one, this time, at least. She had been talking to Ron and Harry…about Hagrid's dragon. And if he had heard that…Malfoy had it out for Harry, Ron, herself, and Hagrid. This could be very bad indeed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A dragon.

They had a dragon.

He had followed them, just far away enough that they wouldn't have been able to see him if they turned around.

Draco had stared as the dragon had hatched. He had never seen one before. He might have liked to watch longer, but the oaf who owned the reptile had caught sight of him.

He ran as fast as he could back to the castle, his heart filled with malicious pleasure. A _dragon_. Potter would be expelled for sure if they found out he was helping to hide it.

This was going to be good.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Ron was bitten, Malfoy almost couldn't believe it. He had known that Weasleys were stupid, but stupid enough to get close enough to a dragon for it to bite you? Weasley was reaching new heights of ignorance every day.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up, especially given that he knew _exactly_ what had bitten the Weasley.

"Hello, Ron," he said politely as he entered the hospital wing. "Madam Pomfrey, I need to borrow a book from my … _friend_ … Ron, here. Is it okay if I talk to him for a few minutes?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded, and headed toward her office, muttering under her breath about the different herbs and potions she would need.

"Dog bite, my foot." Draco smirked as he caught that part of her monologue.

He sauntered up to Ron's bed, acting as if he hadn't a care in the world. " _Dog_ bite, eh?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron said defensively.

"Are we sure it's a _dog_ bite?" Malfoy sat on the chair next to Ron. "I mean, considering what Hagrid's got cooking up in that _wooden_ hut of his."

"Quite sure, thank you," Ron said sullenly. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I was in need of a good laugh," Draco replied. "Thank you for providing it for me."

"Yes, very funny," Ron muttered darkly. "Whenever I want a laugh, I visit someone who's in pain."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I'd be _very_ careful, Weasley," he said quietly. "Wouldn't want Pomfrey to find out what _actually_ bit you, now, would we?"

Ron froze. Draco stood, clapping his hands together. "Well," he said. "I find I tire of this place very easily. I'll just take my book now, and be off."

He grabbed a textbook off the top of the pile Ron had stacked by his bed _. Probably brought to him by Hermione,_ Draco thought. Ron didn't seem like someone to try to keep up with school work while in the hospital wing.

Saluting the ginger boy sarcastically, Draco strolled out of the hospital wing to join Greg and Vincent outside. As they walked down the corridor, something fell out of Weasley's textbook.

"Malfoy," Goyle grunted, picking up the piece of paper. Draco turned, annoyed.

"What, Goyle," he snapped.

"This fell out of the book," Greg mumbled.

Draco snatched it from him, and began to scan the letter.

At first, it didn't interest him, just another letter from one of the innumerable Weasley brothers. Suddenly, his eyes snagged on a phrase.

 _Norwegian Ridgeback…illegal dragon…midnight on Saturday…_

Malfoy whooped.

"Malfoy?" Crabbe said hesitantly.

"Gentlemen," Draco said, smiling widely, "Our day just got so much better."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 _Saturday at midnight._

Draco smirked as he crept down the halls and up the staircases, keeping an eye out for Filch, his cat, or Peeves. He would get them. He would find them, wherever they were, and expose them. Then Harry Potter would finally be gone, out of his hair and Hermione…

He hoped Hermione wasn't with him.

He was close. His breathing sped up as he got closer to the Astronomy Tower. He was so close…

And then, quite suddenly, he wasn't.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall screeched, and he panicked briefly before she latched onto him and began to drag him down the hall.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you – "

Draco spluttered and huffed as he was pulled down the hall. "You don't understand, Professor, Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!" He threw his trump card at her, figuratively speaking, of course. He was sure this would make her stop for a moment at least, spur her to conduct _some_ sort of investigation, but she didn't even pause.

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies!"

Draco tuned her out and slumped, resigning himself to his fate. 'How dare you' seemed to be the theme of the night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

Hermione was bursting with happiness as they pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stood in the cool air up on the Astronomy Tower. She had been so scared, they all had, of Malfoy telling. The consequences for that would have been horrible.

Now, he was the one who lost in the game they had been playing. He had gotten the information, sure, but fat lot of good it did him!

She thought she would sing if it weren't midnight on a Saturday when they were supposed to be in bed in Gryffindor Tower.

"Don't," Harry said, out of breath, bringing her back to the present. She sobered, and they quickly got the dragon off their hands.

Such a relief, she thought as she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. They watched the dragon keepers carry Norbert off into the night.

Hermione was abruptly knocked off her high when they came to the bottom of the Astronomy Tower stairs.

"Well, well, well," Argus Filch hissed. "We are in trouble."

Hermione inwardly groaned. This was what came of counting chickens before they were hatched. Now, they'd be _seeing_ Malfoy in detention.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall.

Professor M. McGonagall.

Malfoy crumpled the note in his fist, shoving it into the bottom of his pocket. He looked around. The Entrance Hall was empty as far as he could see, but it was only ten forty-five. He was surprised Granger hadn't forced Potter down here sooner.

Filch appeared at ten minutes to eleven, and they had to wait another seven minutes for Potter and Granger. He mustered up a smirk for them, but really, he felt sick to his stomach.

They had been miserable all week. He, for one, was grateful to them for distracting the school from the twenty points he had lost that same night.

But he was not grateful for the detention they had lured him into. The Forbidden Forest! Before he could stop himself, he was spitting out words.

He was only unsettled, he told himself. Not really scared, like Longbottom obviously was.

But fear…sometimes, it sneaks up on you, and when Draco learned they'd be tracking something that had been mauled, he was significantly more unsettled.

Of course he was paired up with Longbottom.

As they ventured deeper into the forest, Draco became more and more sure of himself, while Neville seemed to lose confidence every step he took. Suddenly, an idea came to him.

Draco picked up his pace, walking faster as Neville stumbled along behind. A few yards later, he heard the clumsy boy fall down onto the ground. He grinned wickedly as he snuck around the back, and came up behind Longbottom.

"Boo!" he shouted. Longbottom squealed, an undignified sound that had Malfoy convulsing in laughter. Unfortunately, the prank was short lived. Along with screeching, Longbottom sent up sparks that had Hagrid thundering toward them.

Draco groaned as Hagrid, using bad pronunciation and bad grammar, attempted to tell a Malfoy off.

Too bad he couldn't use, 'My father will be hearing about this!' in this situation, Draco thought. In this situation, Hagrid could probably use that phrase on him. He did not want his father to find out he had been caught, and given detention. In the Forbidden Forest, of all places. Endangering himself was one thing the sole heir of a prestigious family should never do. Draco had had this drilled into his head his whole life. He wasn't about to spurn that rule now.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If there was one thing Draco hated, it was not knowing something that was going on in the castle. He pouted more than half the day the day after Harry Potter was taken to the hospital wing, because no one had thought to inform him until hours later.

He was a tad melodramatic, and he knew it. Sometimes he did it on purpose, just to see how far he could push sycophantic idiots like Pansy and Greg and Vincent before they cracked.

Blaise Zabini was impossible. He just watched Draco push them around with a knowing smirk on his face.

The whole story leaked over to the first year Slytherins eventually. Professor Quirrell, the stutterer who couldn't say boo to a mouse, had had the Dark Lord attached to the back of his head.

"That explains the smell," Zabini snorted when they heard that.

"Dark Lords aren't big on personal hygiene?" Draco had asked in a faux innocent manner.

"Apparently not, no," Zabini had replied.

And it had been a good story, until he learned Hermione had been involved.

Then, he had tried to pry more and more information from Zabini, seeing what she had done, until the Italian boy had finally shouted, "Enough already! I'm going to start thinking you like the stupid girl if you keep asking questions."

That had quite effectively shut Draco up, because he didn't like Granger, not at all. And it simply wouldn't do to have people thinking that he did.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 _The end of the year was perfec_ t, Hermione thought as she and her best friends, Harry and Ron, entered the Great Hall. Even though Slytherin had won the House Cup, and she had gotten detention, and her first attempt to make friends didn't go over well, she was ending the year _perfectly_.

She sat down at the Gryffindor table, which was slightly subdued as Professor Dumbledore began awarding the House Cup.

Slytherin cheered and banged on the table and stamped. She saw Draco Malfoy looking simply gleeful. As she watched, he turned his head and met her gaze, his smile fading for a moment. She quickly looked back to the front, to Dumbledore.

That was when the Headmaster began awarding some 'last-minute-points'.

 _To Ron, fifty points._

 _To her, fifty points_.

 _To Harry, sixty points._

One hundred and sixty plus three hundred and twelve made four hundred and seventy two.

Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins looked significantly less pleased with themselves.

 _To Neville Longbottom, ten points._

And so the decorations were changed, and Neville was lauded as a true hero. Gryffindor, for the first time in seven years, had won the House Cup.

Still, amid all the excitement, she permitted herself one more glance at Draco.

He was looking down, muttering to the olive-skinned boy sitting next to him. Although she was simply overjoyed that Gryffindor won…she couldn't help but feel sorry for the Slytherins, all sitting so pale and quiet, their victory stolen from him,

The pale blond head began to turn towards her, and she quickly looked away before she could be caught staring.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .

Hermione stepped out of the compartment briefly on their way home. Ron had thought they were supposed to wear their school robes home, and now he had to change on the train. Of course, since she was a girl, she left to give him some privacy.

Outside the compartment, she stopped, leaning on the wall. She pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket, took it out of its envelope.

At the beginning of the year, she had been so scared. She had known next to nothing about the world she was entering into; Hermione hadn't known how muggle grades translated into the wizarding world, and she was scared that her marks would drop.

Now, she unfolded the parchment to look at her exam results, not for the first time. She was proud of herself for Es and Os she had gotten. She, Hermione Granger, had entered into a new world and prevailed.

Hermione smiled to herself as she looked at the paper. Suddenly, it was tweaked out of her hands.

"Hey!" she yelped. She looked up to see Draco Malfoy, alone for once, looking over her exam results.

He raised his eyebrows and whistled. "Well, well, well, Granger," he said. "You did make a good showing on exam week."

"Surprised?" she asked flippantly. "That a muggle-born got grades that are probably better than yours?"

Hurt, and a bit of apprehension, flashed over his face.

"No," he replied. "You've always had to be the smartest of us all."

Grimacing, he threw the paper back at her and continued down the corridor. His father had access to all the student grades at Hogwarts. He was _not_ looking forward to the conversation, fast approaching, about his grades compared to others.

He looked behind him and saw her picking up her paper, smiling at it. Despite himself, he grinned. She had a good first year, he thought to himself. And despite the slight annoyance that was Harry Potter, so had he.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N: Second chapter. In answer to Suddencharm's question, this story will follow Draco and Hermione through all seven years of Harry Potter. It will probably be two to three chapters per year. Updates will be every two to three days, and will speed up considerably once A Happy Ending for a Death Eater is finished. Read and review:)**


	3. Chapter 3: Second Year, Part I

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and therefore everything in this fanfiction that you recognize.**

CHAPTER THREE: Second Year, Part I

Draco stayed outside as much as he could that summer, in the extensive grounds that came with Malfoy Manor. He flew most of the time, skimming through the air on the Nimbus Two-Thousand and One. His father had stayed true to his word on that promise, and was already planning to make a donation of the broom to each of Draco's teammates on the Quidditch team. Assuming he got on, which Lucius did.

His father hadn't been as angry about his grades as he had expected. The Ministry's raids had probably helped; they distracted him from his son's academic progress, and for that Draco was grateful.

However, he was _not_ grateful for the constant banging, and the other interruptions. His father was cleaning out every bookshelf, and every nook and cranny that held even the possibility of something dark.

Draco groaned as he walked into his room and saw that no elf had picked it up for the second day in a row.

"Dobby!" Draco yelled for the elf that his father had told him he could borrow while the rest were helping Mr. Malfoy purge the house. Draco moaned as the elf didn't respond.

"If I were Harry Potter they would come quicker," Draco grumbled. Summer had not improved the memory of the dreadful boy. He could only hope the saviour of the wizarding world would stay out of his way in their second year.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione frowned as she opened the window for Errol. Errol had come every week or so every day that holiday; but she hadn't received anything from Hedwig, Harry's owl. She was beginning to worry about him; she had sent over half a dozen letters to him that summer, and he still hadn't responded. Sighing, she opened the letter that Ron had sent her.

 _Hermione-_

 _I know that you've been having the same problem I've had, meaning that Harry won't respond to your letters. Fred and George and I think that those muggles he stays with are keeping them from him somehow. Don't know how; I mean, they're the mugglest of muggles, not smart like your parents. So me and the twins are going to go rescue Harry if he hasn't responded to my last letter by the end of this week. Don't try to talk us out of it, please._

 _-Ron_

Hermione rolled her eyes, reading the last line of the letter.

"All right, Ron," she muttered. "I won't talk you out of it."

Instead, she took out a piece of parchment and a pen. Leaning over her desk, she started her reply.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It had been a relief to know that Harry and Ron hadn't gotten in too much trouble, flying over Britain. When she heard the details of the rescue, she laughed herself sick, then sent the two a letter admonishing their methods.

We're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley?

She sent the letter to Harry and Ron, already planning what she was going to do once she was back in the wizarding world. Summer had been…well, uncomfortable was probably the best word for it.

Her parents loved her, and she loved them. That was a truth that she was very of aware of. But she was different now, and it was hard for them to look past her school sometimes.

She had quietly done her homework, then gone to the movies with her dad. She sent a letter off to Ron and Harry, then sent another decoy in the mail, so her parents wouldn't be so uncomfortable.

The whole summer had felt like a lie, and when they told her that they would take her to Diagon Alley she wanted to jump and scream with happiness.

Hermione met up with the Weasleys and Harry, then her parents slowly faded to the background. When they pressed a wallet with wizard money into her hand, and told her they'd wait at the muggle tea-shop across the street from the Leaky Cauldron, she wasn't surprised.

But she floated through their visit, until Flourish and Blotts.

Harry being dragged up to the front was the first thing to go wrong. Poor Harry was miserable, you could see it in his reluctance to smile, to work the crowd the way Lockhart wanted him to.

"What an idiot," a sneering voice said, right next to Hermione.

She jumped. "Harry's not an idiot," she said indignantly, looking at the tall blond boy who had seemingly materialized right next to her.

"Wasn't talking about Potter, not this time, anyway," Draco Malfoy said, looking at the bushy haired witch amusedly.

"Well," Hermione said, somewhat appeased. "Who were you talking about?"

The two returned their attention to the stage, where Lockhart was announcing what his new job was.

"Him," Draco said disgustedly. "Merlin, I can't believe that absolute _idiot_ is going to be our teacher. Dumbledore has _terrible_ taste in DADA instructors."

"I'm sure he's doing his best, given the circumstances," Hermione sniffed, gazing at the handsome blond wizard on the stage. Draco looked at her, significantly less amused.

"Hermione," he said, mildly horrified. "You do realise that he's at least a decade older, if not more?"

"Oh, hush," Hermione said, blushing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You look like a tomato, Granger," Draco observed in a mock-serious tone.

Hermione blushed even more. Thankfully, she was saved by Harry dumping the books Lockhart had given him into Ginny's cauldron.

"You can have these, I'll buy my own – "

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?"

Hermione inwardly groaned as the two boys entered into one of their typical confrontations. She moved to stand next to Harry. Distracted by the Boy Wonder, she missed Draco's jealous glare at the boy.

It wasn't fair, Draco thought. He had the whole school wrapped around his finger. Did he have to have Hermione as well?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Draco," Lucius said as they exited the bookshop, carrying a bag with his new schoolbooks. Narcissa meekly joined her husband as he held out his arm. "Who was that girl with the Weasleys, the one that clearly did not belong with them?"

"That's…that's Hermione Granger, sir," Draco answered. His shoulders hunched. It was completely unreasonable, he knew that, but he still didn't want his father to know about Hermione. But he answered, because he was walking on a thin line after irritating his father during his visit to Borgin and Burkes.

"Granger?" Lucius asked, his face only showing polite interest.

"Muggle-born, sir," Draco said just as they entered into Knockaturn Alley, for the second time that day.

"Lucius…" Mr. Malfoy shook Narcissa off and grabbed his son's arm tightly, so tight that it hurt. Taking his wand out, he shoved Draco against a brick wall and held the wand to his throat.

"Muggle-born, is she?" Lucius snarled. "What are _muggle-borns_ , Draco?"

"Dirt," Draco choked. "Filth."

"And do we call them _muggle-borns_?" Draco shook his head, his neck painfully rubbing against the wall behind him. "That's right, Draco, we call them what they are, not a pretentious name that hides their true heritage. What do we call them?"

"Mudblood," Draco whispered hoarsely.

"And don't you forget it," Lucius growled. He let go, and Draco fell to the ground, gasping and massaging his neck. He looked around, looking to see if anyone had seen the man choking a boy to death.

Then he remembered. In Knockaturn Alley, no one cared.

"Come along, Draco, Narcissa," Lucius said briskly. "I need to go cancel one of the sales I made Mr. Borgin earlier."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As Draco and his father left the bookshop, Hermione saw the two joined by a woman who must be Draco's mother. The family of three walked away.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur. Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that. No Malfoy's worth listenin' ter."

Hermione felt like putting her hands over her ears.

That's not true, she thought. That's not true.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"What?!" Draco shouted.

"Draco," Narcissa said softly, casting a cautious look over at Lucius, who was staring at his son with a hard look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco backtracked, looking down. "I just don't understand why you would arrange for me to be Madam Pomfrey's assistant in the Hospital Wing for the WHOLE YEAR!"

"Draco," Lucius Malfoy said in a soft, sleek tone. "When you have children, will you allow them to question you?"

 _Yes_ , Draco thought obstinately as he shrank down in his seat, not brave enough to say it out loud _. If I tell them to do something unreasonable, I will definitely allow them to question me._

"I thought not." Lucius was not a mind reader, and he interpreted Draco's silence as agreement. "Draco, get up." His voice was cold as ice, and Draco trembled as he got out of his chair to stand before his father.

"Lucius, don't, he didn't mean to disrespect…"

"I will decide when the boy is being disrespectful or not," Lucius said, cutting Narcissa off. Draco shook uncontrollably as he tried to brace himself for what was to come, staring at his father's wand.

"Crucio." No matter how much he tried to prepare, it was never enough for him to endure the crawling, poking, burning, relentless pain that one word brought him.

As he fell to his knees, screaming, an errant thought flickered through his brain.

 _At least mudbloods aren't cursed over dinner._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione spent the last week of her vacation packing, excited for the new year to begin. Seeing Harry and Ron and being in Diagon Alley had reminded her just how much she missed Hogwarts, and the wonderful world of magic that was within it.

She didn't think about Draco Malfoy. She did think about Gilderoy Lockhart _, Professor_ Lockhart, who would be teaching that year. He just seemed so…so…perfect. Like someone who would always be there for her, who would always support her, who would listen to all her woes with a sympathetic smile on his face.

And that smile. There was a picture of him on the back cover of one of his books, and she spent hours staring at his shiny, white smile. _Perfection_.

But whenever she stared at his photo, sooner or later a voice would start talking in the back of her mind.

 _You do realise he's at least a decade older, Granger. Old. Very old. What would I say if I found out you were spending hours on end staring at his smarmy smile?_

Usually, hearing that voice, she ignored it, and tried to return to the state of bliss she had been in, staring at Lockhart's picture. But it would stay there, insulting her and questioning her, until she sighed and threw the book on the floor in frustration.

There must be something wrong with her, if she was hearing Draco Malfoy's voice when she looked at someone's picture.

And so, the rest of summer holiday passed, and not a minute too soon, it was time to go to the Hogwarts Express.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"You'll be in the Hospital Wing every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday," Lucius confirmed with his son, who nodded sullenly.

"Yes, Father." What about Quidditch? Draco asked silently. His father, true to his word, had purchased the whole team a broom after having Marcus Flint and Montague come and watch Draco fly.

Lucius had assured his son that the two had done the same for every other prospective player.

Draco dutifully shook his father's hand and kissed his mother's cheek. Narcissa grabbed her son's hand and squeezed it, trying to convey her feelings without words. Draco gave his mother a half nod, then turned away, walking quickly to the train.

On the train, he took a deep breath and relaxed the rigid posture he had held while speaking to his father. Walking down the corridor, he was stopped by Blaise Zabini, who grabbed his shoulder and pointed behind him.

"We've got a compartment back there," he said lazily, shoving his hands down in his pockets. "Greg and Vincent are waiting for you. Pansy too."

Draco grimaced. "And where are you going?" he asked, almost wanting to join the young wizard.

"Nowhere I'd want you to be tagging along to," Blaise said with a wink, following Draco's train of thought. He turned and slouched down the corridor, leaving Draco to wince and follow his instructions to Greg, Vincent, and Pansy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . .

She thought they were friends. So where were they?

Hermione waited in an empty compartment for the boys, until the train started to move. Startled, she almost dropped the book she was reading. She rushed to the window to look out and see if the boys were out there. All she could see was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, moving away toward the exit.

She turned back to the compartment, empty.

Hermione folded her arms and sulked for a minute, not that she would call it sulking. Then, worry overcame her, and she began to wonder where the boys were.

The worry culminated in a decision. She put her robes on, just in case she wasn't going to be back, then opened the compartment door and shut it behind her firmly. Then, she began her quest to find Harry and Ron.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco was sitting in silence, looking out the window at all the scenery going by. Greg and Pansy were having a conversation about, of all things, muggle clothing lines. Draco groaned, wishing Blaise were here to commiserate over the pain of listening to Goyle and Pansy argue about whether Ralph Lauren shoes or purses were better.

The compartment door slid open, and Draco sat up straight, hoping it was Blaise.

It wasn't.

Hermione Granger, her body eclipsed by the monstrosity of her hair, was standing in the doorway, looking taken aback. It was clear that she hadn't thought that this compartment would be filled with Slytherin second-years who hated her.

"If it isn't Potter's little pet beaver," Pansy sneered at Hermione. "What do you want, Granger?"

Granger's eyes darted back and forth between them. "I'm just…I'm just looking for Harry and Ron."

The other three Slytherins all looked toward Draco. Anything that included the words 'Harry' or 'Potter' was considered Draco's territory. He flinched, but acceded to their expectations.

"Have they ditched you already? And here I was, thinking that they would at least have the decency to wait until we got to the school." Draco laughed along with his goons and Pansy.

"They wouldn't ditch me," Hermione said, flushing. It was clear that Draco had struck a nerve.

"Oh, wouldn't they?" Draco smirked. "After all, you're only a muggle-born."

She left soon after that, Pansy and Goyle and Crabbe laughing her out of the place. Only after she was gone did Draco remember his father's words.

 _Do we call them muggle-borns?_

Draco shook his head, brow furrowed, gazing out the window again.

 _What do we call them, Draco?_

"Mudblood," Draco whispered, clenching his fists. "Mudblood."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione felt relief beyond comparison when Harry and Ron emerged through the Fat Lady's portrait into the Gryffindor common room, and treated her like the friend she was to them. Draco's words had rattled her, though she never would've admitted it. Finding Ron's little sister Ginny and hearing her say that they had arrived at the Platform at the same time she had had only contributed to Hermione's unease.

Was Draco right? Had they ditched her?

They hadn't. They had flown a flying car into the Whomping Willow, but they hadn't ditched her. They had nearly gotten expelled, but they hadn't ditched her.

She was properly worried and chastised them when they arrived, finally, after the feast.

But their antics paled in comparison to the most important fact: _They hadn't ditched her._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N: Chapters will probably be shorter from here on out...to be perfectly honest, this story is fighting me a little bit. Reviews always help! Read and review:)**


	4. Chapter 4: Second Year, Part II

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and therefore everything in this fanfiction that you recognize.**

CHAPTER FOUR: Second Year, Part II

Hermione looked at the red envelope in interest. It didn't seem that unusual; just red, and Molly Weasley didn't usually use that stationary.

She changed her mind when Ron opened it, and Molly's thundering voice boomed out over the hall.

"…STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU…"

Draco smirked at the Weasel's discomfort from across the hall. Served him right…he believed he and Potter should've been expelled. While he just happened to be looking over in their direction, he noticed Hermione.

She was staring at the Howler with rapt attention, as if she was committing every detail to memory to research later. He laughed to himself.

Crabbe and Goyle paused in stuffing their faces when they saw their leader laughing. Exchanging uncertain glances, they began to chuckle too, not knowing who they were laughing at. Draco's laughter turned into a pout.

Blaise nudged him.

"Pining over one of the golden lions?" he asked, giving Hermione a meaningful glance. "I wish you the best of luck, mate, but I wouldn't want to be there when you bring that one to meet the parents."

Draco straightened. They were friends in the loosest sense, but Blaise looked out for him and he looked out for Blaise. Blaise would never steer him wrong.

He gave Zabini a dirty look, then turned to his other side, wrapping an arm around Pansy. She immediately began cooing about her 'Drakey-poo', and while Draco wanted to barf, he liked the distraction.

Blaise chuckled quietly, returning to his meal.

Neither of them noticed Hermione, sneaking disgusted peeks at Draco and Pansy throughout the course of breakfast.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Herbology was definitely not Draco's favourite class. Sure, Potions had gross ingredients sometimes, but plants with screaming babies as their roots? Absolutely gross. But it was gratifying to know that he had graduated from the harmless little plants to plants that could kill a person.

It said he was becoming powerful.

He liked it.

And, when he saw Hermione cringe away from the nasty stuff, he hated himself for liking it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Of course you got on the team. I don't know why you were so bloody worried about it, Malfoy. You're a shoo in."

Draco glared at Blaise, the handsome Italian lounging on the couch in their dorm room.

"It's important," he said gruffly. "My father – it's important."

"Well, if it's important, you might not want to miss the practice," Blaise said drily, casting a meaningful glance toward the clock.

"Fsh," Draco hissed as he caught the time. "Blaise, broom." Zabini tossed the Nimbus Two-Thousand One over to his friend, who deftly caught it and rushed to the door. "Wish me luck," he said over his shoulder as he raced out of the room.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Quidditch," he sighed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The team was waiting for him just off the pitch.

"Finally," Montague groaned. "Why'd we get this one anyway, Flint?" He threw a sour look at Draco. "Sure doesn't seem like it will pay off."

"Really," Draco said aloofly. "Who do you think paid for your brooms?"

"I've seen him fly," Flint said sharply, hitting Montague's leg. "He's worth it. Not just about the brooms."

Draco smirked.

"But we have been waiting," Flint said. "Professor Snape gave us a wonderful opportunity, and I think we should use it." He jerked his head toward the pitch, which was hidden from them by the stands.

Draco pushed past the team to peek around the corner. "There's already someone out there," he said, surprised.

"Yup," Montague said. "Gryffindor. But _we_ have special permission to share the pitch with them."

Draco slowly began to grin. "I like where this is going."

"Can't wait to see those idiot lion faces," a teammate snickered.

It seemed like a good idea. Until it wasn't.

They walked out there, the Gryffindors got mad, Oliver Wood turned a lovely shade of puce. They displayed Draco, and he preened under the attention.

Then _she_ showed up. And Draco knew the whole prank was going to hell.

When she accused him of buying his way onto the team, he couldn't believe his ears. He hadn't…he hadn't. He thought. He had auditioned at the manor, and he had gotten on the team through his own merits.

"And just what would you know?" he asked, his head whirling with anger and fire and fear and all of his insecurities. "You're just a mu – u – "

Everything froze. Suddenly, he was back at his house, his mansion, his father's manor. He felt the wand digging into his skin, the burning pain spreading through his bones, ripping through his skull, wrenching sounds he didn't know he could make out of his throat.

"Mudblood!"

The reaction was immediate. Everything went to hell.

At least I could predict it, Draco thought, faking vindictive pleasure as Montague acted out Weasley throwing up slugs.

I wish it had hit me, he thought. Maybe I would feel better.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Why did it hurt so much? Hermione thought as she absentmindedly rubbed her chest. Why did it hurt so much that Draco called her that – that – that word? They weren't friends. If a word came to mind, it would be enemies. Why did it hurt so much?

She fell asleep with the vision of Draco sneering at her in her head, still rubbing at the invisible pain in her chest.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He got good, really good, at ignoring her. At turning his head away from her, away from that pained expression, even as he insulted her hair, her brains, her blood. Even as he was apologizing, over and over and over, inside his head.

It was like he didn't see her anymore. And that was better, she thought. That was better. She wasn't the girl to take home to Mother.

He was audience to Potter and his sidekicks' many mishaps, laughing at how Potter seemed to ingratiate himself to Lockhart unwillingly. Sneering at how Hermione seemed to want to ingratiate herself to Lockhart. And…he was there when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were found in front of the wall with the message.

The message that scared him, scared all of the Slytherins. He and Blaise and Greg and Vincent and Theo all met up in his room, uncomfortably silent, fiddling with things, their thoughts elsewhere.

"All right," Draco finally said, interrupting the silence. "Is it any of us?"

Nos echoed around the room. Draco sagged with relief. "So…I guess…hope it doesn't get any of us?" Greg asked hesitantly.

"It won't get us," Draco said scornfully. "We're pureblood." And the room fell into silence again as Draco stopped talking.

Hermione wasn't pureblood. Hadn't he called her that awful word just recently? He hoped Potter, at least, realised what danger she was in. Posted a bodyguard or something.

Because he wouldn't. No, he wouldn't. He might watch from afar, but no, he wouldn't assign anyone to protect Potter's mudblood.

She was none of his concern.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Of course, Slytherin lost the match. Draco was thoroughly ignored, until Flint said, "You're only a second year. We've got time, he's learning…"

Draco quietly fumed all the way through dinner, through the common room, all the way to his bed.

How did Potter even get the Snitch? He had a bludger chasing him the whole bloody game, he broke his arm…At this point, Draco had to laugh. Seeing Lockhart make Potter's arm worse had to be a highlight of the game.

But they still lost. And it had probably been his fault.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A dueling club. Led by _Lockhart._ Draco sneered as he watched the grinning teacher posture and prance in front of all the students, and Professor Snape.

"Let's go," Blaise said disgustedly. "You really think we're going to learn anything from that tosser?"

Draco shook his head. "Nope. But it'll make for a good laugh, right?" he said, staring at Hermione.

"A good laugh. Right."

Blaise slapped Draco's shoulder as Professor Snape began separating out the groups. "Potter…and Malfoy," the professor sneered. Draco met the green eyes of Harry Potter over Snape's shoulder.

Blaise laughed and hit Draco again. "Best of luck, mate," he chuckled. Then, in a lower tone, he added: "I know it wasn't who you were hoping for, but make the best of it."

He winked before strolling off to find his partner.

"Ready – begin!"

Draco snarled as Harry cast a hex right as soon as they began. He doubled over in laughter as invisible fingers pinched his sides, tickling him into a giggling mess. Raising his wand shakily, he shot off a dancing spell that hit Potter square on the chest.

"Enough!" Snape finally interrupted them, undoing both of the spells. Draco heaved, hands on his knees.

"Let's try again, to teach these boys how to block these unfriendly spells!" Draco ignored the man as Lockhart fluttered around, trying to explain a complicated and nonsensical spell to Harry. All the while, Professor Snape muttered in Draco's ear. An evil grin grew on his face as the professor gave him succinct instructions on a spell that could be Potter's undoing.

Then they were facing each other, in duel stance. Potter still looked confused, his brow furrowed. Draco smirked.

"Begin!"

"Serpensortia!" Draco yelled, throwing the spell at Potter. His smirk grew as Potter didn't move, just stared at the snake in fear.

"If you're scared, Potter, I can get rid of it," Snape drawled.

"Allow me," Lockhart interrupted. And with a fling of his arm, the snake flipped into the middle of the watching students.

As shrieks filled the air, and students scrambled away from the reptile, Draco's eyes sought out Hermione's face.

She was on the other side of Potter, away from the snake. Draco, relieved, turned back to Potter, who was waving his arms at the snake, hissing.

Draco stiffened as he realised what was going on, and he wanted to go grab Hermione, pull her away, far away, from the monster who was her friend.

But he didn't. He only watched as the scene unfolded.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 _Draco –_

 _I have spoken with Madam Pomfrey. She has informed me that you have not been reporting to the Hospital Wing to help as I have instructed you. If you do not begin as soon as you received your letter, there will be consequences._

 _Lucius Malfoy_

Draco scowled. He crumpled the small scrap of paper that had come with his mother's long piece of love and fluff.

 _There will be consequences._

He ripped the paper up. He threw the paper away. But those words were ingrained in his brain.

That evening, instead of hanging out with his friends in the common room, he reported to the Hospital Wing.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "I'm glad you're finally here. What with all the petrified students, I'm getting extremely behind on making the other medicines. You have fairly good marks in Potions; I believe I will delegate that task to you, and perhaps some taking care of the victims. However – " Madam Pomfrey paused. "I don't know how well you'll do with that task. Some of the victims had very public rows with you."

She nodded toward the cots before heading off toward the other end of the room, with the shelves full of potions.

Draco moved closer to the first cot and froze. He slowly lowered himself into the chair next to the bed, blinking quickly. "Stupid, Hermione." He bowed his head. "Stupid stupid stupid. Why the hell couldn't you have stayed in public places, maybe followed your two dimwits around for a bit?"

 _There will be consequences._ "I'm sorry, Hermione."

 _Do we call them muggle-borns?_

 _They are worse than animals, Draco. Well beneath our station. If you meet one, you are to ignore it, and do not even think about touching one._

His father's voice was so clear that Draco jumped, his face curdling into the sneer that he so often wore around his father.

"Mudblood," he sneered, as if his father could hear him, as if she could hear him. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Madam Pomfrey was too far away to hear. "You got what was coming for you."

She didn't move, didn't even blink an eye. She was a statue.

"Beaverish, brown-nosing swot," Draco insulted her. "Bushy haired brat." He racked his brain for other ways to make her mad. "Mrs. Potter." She didn't react. Huffing, he slouched in his chair and pouted. Somehow, it wasn't as satisfying to insult her when she didn't fly into a rage about it.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey said. "Would you deign to help me?"

With one last look behind him, he went to help the mediwitch.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco visited her every evening, leaving a vase of flowers just before he went to tell Madam Pomfrey he had showed up, no need to contact his father about him. She never moved, was always in the same position, eyes frozen wide, hand clutching a scrap of paper.

Until one day the paper was gone, and Draco was told that Harry and Ron had visited earlier.

He hated that they could openly visit the girl. He wondered if they had been curious about the flowers, if they had even noticed the flowers.

He wondered if they had even noticed she was missing from wherever they had been when she was petrified.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Wonderful news!" Madam Pomfrey was almost bursting with happiness when he came in a week later. "The beast that has been causing all of this has been vanquished, and the Mandrakes are ready!"

"Oh really," Draco said, feigning disinterest.

"Yes!" Pomfrey was almost floating above the ground. "So, I'm going to have to ask you to stay in this room, for the rest of today, Mr. Malfoy. Put some ear muffs on. Professors Sprout, Snape, and I will be preparing the potion in the other room."

Draco rolled his eyes as she tossed some ear muffs at him, then danced into the other room, where she was soon joined by Professor Sprout and Professor Snape, both carting enormous boxes of plants.

Draco settled down in the chair next to Hermione to wait. He smirked when he saw the pile of books and parchment on the bedside table. There was a note on top.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _We know that when you are de-petrified you'll want these. We miss you._

 _Harry and Ron_

Draco chuckled. "Is de-petrified even a word?" he asked Hermione. Then, he took the first book and list of make-up assignments, which happened to be for Transfiguration. Draco smiled as he pulled out a quill and began to do Hermione's work for her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day, Draco walked into the infirmary to find a frazzled Madam Pomfrey juggling potions. As she almost dropped one, Draco reached out and caught it with a skill only a Seeker had.

"Can I help?" he said, narrowing his eyes at the sludgy, distilled watery potion.

"Yes, yes…" she said. "I'll start from that end of the cots, you…why don't you just do Hermione. I can take care of the others."

Draco stood still, holding the potion. "Why Hermione?" he asked the witch as she hurried to the bed with the cat on it.

"Because she's the one you've been giving flowers to."

"What?" he asked, shocked.

Madam Pomfrey turned, a twinkle in her eye. "Don't worry. I can keep a secret." She smiled and nodded toward Hermione. Draco, his shoulders hunched, walked over to the bed.

"All right," he mumbled. "Here goes…"

She didn't move for several seconds after he administered the potion, long enough for him to start freaking out. Then there was a twitch of a finger, and he relaxed.

Soon, her neck had unfrozen enough for her to move her head to face Draco. "Malfoy?" she said uncertainly. "What are you doing here?"

"Detention duty," he said. "This is just a perk of the job."

"What is?" she asked.

"Getting to see the incredible swot come back to life."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Did you just come here to make fun of me?" she asked.

"Yup," Draco said flippantly, grinning. "And to do your homework."

Two minutes later, Hermione was fully thawed and yelling.

"You did my work?!"

Draco smirked as he prepared to reason her into accepting his help.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day, he watched her reunite with the other two of the trio. She hugged Harry, shook hands with Ron awkwardly.

But just before she sat down, she found a second of her time to glare at Draco.

He grinned back. And she had to turn away, trying to disguise her smile.

But he saw it anyway. And he felt that pain in his chest he had felt since he called her 'mudblood' begin to subside.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N: Read and review:)**


	5. Chapter 5: Third Year, Part I

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and therefore everything in this fanfiction that you recognize.**

CHAPTER FIVE: Third Year, Part I  


"Good evening."

"Good evening, Father," Draco said as Lucius sat at the head of the table.

"My dear," Lucius said, kissing Narcissa's hand. She smiled at him.

"How was work today," she inquired politely. Draco snorted. Both of his parents turned to him, his mother stiff, and his father challenging. He coughed twice, trying to disguise the snort. Lucius, although he narrowed his eyes, accepted the excuse.

Malfoys didn't _work._ Sure, his father managed Malfoy Enterprises, but his more prominent 'job' was influencing the Ministry's decisions to tip the balance in his favor. His, and, of course, his peers.

"I'm afraid Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban," Lucius said, taking a sip of his wine. "Those worthless idiots at the prison. What I want to know is how he got past the Dementors."

"Dementors?" Draco asked.

"Fear monsters. Very effective; only a few wizards know how to properly deter those things. Which is why I need to know how Sirius Black got past them without a wand."

"Who…who is Sirius Black?" Draco asked, shrinking in his seat, swearing that that would be the last question he asked of his father today. Luckily, his father was in a…tolerable mood, and he took a bite of his food, preparing to answer.

"A convict," he said. "Best friends with James Potter. Believe he's Harry Potter's godfather, actually."

"Shame," Narcissa said, shaking her head.

"Maybe," Lucius shrugged. "He sold them out to the Dark Lord, then killed Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles when Pettigrew went to try to capture him." Lucius chuckled darkly. "Or so they say."

"I thought he was blasted from the family tree for not – " Draco stopped talking as he met Lucius' glare.

"He's after Potter now," Lucius said, returning to his food. "Or – " he smiled, this one reaching his eyes. "Or so they say."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco remembered his father's words as he sat in his compartment on the train, surrounded by friends, but feeling completely alone in the dark as Dementors swept through the corridors of the train. He forced himself to think of something else – anything else – anything but the total feeling of despair.

Hermione. Harry Potter's best friend, and in the line of fire, once again. Draco berated her in his mind for having the bad sense to be muggle-born, to be Gryffindor, and for having the worst taste in friends.

Imaginary-Hermione punched him in the face after he finished his tirade. He came to in reality, bright lights stinging his eyes.

"Did you faint, Malfoy?" Goyle asked in shock.

"Faint? No," Draco scoffed. "It was so dark, I fell asleep."

"So – you didn't…you didn't feel that?" Pansy's voice was small, and she hugged herself, her body shaking. Feeling sympathy for the girl, normally so overbearing and self-sure, Draco reached out and tugged her to his body.

"Feel what?"

"Even if he did, he wouldn't admit it," Blaise said darkly. "Neither of us would."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco didn't like it when people whispered around him. Unless, of course, they were whispering flattering things about him. And even then, he'd prefer to be able to hear it.

Sitting in the common room, listening to Pansy whisper with Daphne Greengrass after the Sorting Feast, he could feel himself becoming more and more irritated.

"Will you stop that infernal noise," he finally snapped.

"What noise, Draco dear," Pansy smirked. She moved to stand behind the sofa he was on. "This one?" she whispered in his ear.

"Yes," he said grumpily.

"Well, we'd be happy to oblige," Pansy said, grinning at Daphne. "But we figured you wouldn't want to hear something that had anything to do with Potter."

"Ooh, gossip," Blaise Zabini came and pulled one of the chairs from a table, straddling it and hanging over the edge, playing with Daphne's hair as she giggled. "Deal me in."

"Draco's too grumpy," Pansy cooed. "I don't want to upset him by whispering over in the corner with you."

"Just tell him," Draco sighed.

"Well," Pansy started, sitting on the sofa and fanning her skirt out. "Harry Potter has just had his first Divination class."

"Thank you, Pansy, for this update on Harry Potter's worthless life," Draco said sarcastically.

"That's not all," Pansy continued. "Professor Trelawney predicted that our very own Harry Potter will die before the school year ends." She lowered a voice. "He saw a Grimm."

"Oh no, a Grimm, a Grimm," Draco said weakly, waving his hands around. "Maybe it'll finally rid us of Wonder boy."

"Anything else?" Zabini asked.

"Well – " Pansy seemed ready to dish out more, and Draco jumped to his feet.

"Goodnight ladies, Zabini," he said. "I believe I shall retire for the night."

He could hear them laugh as he left.

"Such a low tolerance for anything he doesn't like," he heard Blaise say.

"We'll work on that," Pansy replied. Draco rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs to his room.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" Draco slowed down, allowing Zabini to catch up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cloud of brown curls pass through a hallway, rushing. He shook his head to clear it, focusing on Zabini.

"Potter's afraid of Dementors," Blaise snickered.

"No way," Draco said, a smirk beginning on his face.

"Better believe it, Malfoy," Blaise said. "He fainted. On the train, you know, when those things were going up and down the corridors."

"Poor thing," Malfoy said, an evil grin beginning on his face. "I don't suppose that he'll get over it anytime soon?"

"Should we help him?" Blaise grinned.

"Definitely." Sniggering, Draco beckoned Crabbe and Malfoy, and the three left Zabini behind, heading for Care of Magical Creatures.

"Oi!" Zabini called out after them. "Where're you going?"

"Care of Magical Creatures!" Draco yelled back.

"Be careful! Potter's in that class!" Zabini laughed. "He has a death sentence or something!"

"I'll try not to die with him!"

"Really," a feminine voice said. Draco jumped back, Crabbe catching him.

"You okay, Malfoy?" Crabbe grunted.

"Fine, fine," Draco said, brushing himself off while staring at the girl in front of him. "Are you real?" he asked her, swiping his hand toward her.

Hermione jumped back. "Of course I'm real," she snapped. "And I have to say, that display just now was extremely immature."

"Oh really?" Draco said in a challenging tone, crossing his arms and squaring his shoulders. "How so?"

"Harry does NOT have a death sentence," Hermione sniffed.

"Of course he doesn't," Draco said, thinking back to his original thought when he saw her. Distracted, he let more slip than he wanted to. "But everyone saying he does will eventually start freaking him out, especially since Black is after him."

"Sirius Black is after Harry?" Hermione gasped, shocked.

"How did you get there?" Draco pointed at her, then at the door to another hall across the way. "I just saw you pass over there…"

Hermione blushed. "It probably wasn't me," she said quickly. "I mean, you didn't see the girl up close, lots of girls look like me."

Draco shook his head. "No," he said. "The hair and the teeth gives you away."

Hermione straightened. "Rude."

"Mu – mug – mudblood," Draco said after seeing Crabbe and Goyle lean in out of the corner of his eye.

Hermione's eyes flashed, and she turned wordlessly, heading toward the Care of Magical Creatures class.

"You know, we're heading to the same place!" Draco called. "We could walk together!" Crabbe and Goyle snickered along with him.

"Not on your life, Malfoy!" she shouted behind her.

Draco laughed out loud, then continued down the path.

A few minutes later, she was joined by Potter and the Weasel.

Draco scowled. "Wonder if she's decided which one she's going to marry yet," he muttered under his breath. Crabbe and Goyle laughed behind him. He stalked ahead of them to the hut where, apparently, the lessons were to be held.

The half giant started the class extremely inauspiciously. "Firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books - "

"How?" Malfoy asked, taking on an innocent, interested, possibly confused expression.

"Eh?" the 'professor' asked. Malfoy dropped the façade and sneered.

"How do we open our books?" Draco asked, speaking slowly, and taking out his rope bound book as evidence that he really had no idea how to calm the beast down.

It had tried to eat his father's cloak. He had decided he hated the book right then and there.

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," Hagrid was saying. Malfoy immediately ran a finger down the spine, quieting down the murderous book. Rolling his eyes, he sneered.

"Oh, how silly we've all been! We should've stroked them! Why didn't we guess!"

Hermione, in the front of the class, looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. Malfoy was doing what he did best: using his verbal skills to pass off his discomfort onto someone else.

"I…I thought they were funny," Hagrid said, looking to Hermione and Harry for reassurance. Hermione mustered up a smile and a half-nod, even though she did somewhat agree with Malfoy – those books really were a menace.

Malfoy scowled as he saw Hermione trying to non-verbally communicate to the oaf that it was okay, the books really were quite funny and his joke had been well received, by her at least.

"Oh, tremendously funny!" he said. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"

 _Or try to ruin our father's clothes_ , Draco thought to himself as an aside.

"Shut up, Malfoy," he vaguely heard Potter say. He ignored the Gryffindor, continuing to run his mouth as Hagrid went off to get the 'magical creatures'.

"God, this place is going to the dogs. That oaf teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him – "

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry said again, this time much louder.

"Careful, Potter, there's a Dementor behind you – "

Then the girl with two colors for a name squealed, and Draco lost his train of thought as he focused on something other than putting down the teacher and realised how close to the front he had become.

Close enough to the front that he was right next to Weasley and Potter and Granger, Crabbe and Goyle squeezing in behind him.

That part had been an accident. He hadn't been trying to get closer to Granger – maybe his subconscious, but not him. Malfoy put all those thoughts away as he focused on the beasts Hagrid was leading into the enclosure…and Potter, who was, like the loyal friend he was, trying to help out his friend the gamekeeper by allowing himself to get mauled by one of the beasts.

Even he was nervous for Harry as the boy bowed, staring at the yellowish, hawkish eyes of the bird-lion-horse…hippogriff. He vaguely wondered if the so-called prediction was true – if it was, then this was as good of a way as any for Potter to get killed.

Hermione could feel herself getting more and more nervous as Harry stood bowed there longer and longer without having the hippogriff bow back. Reaching out, she grabbed Ron's hand and clenched it in her fingers tightly.

Only it wasn't Ron next to her. It was Draco.

The boy stiffened as he felt Hermione grab his hand, holding it tightly. For a few seconds, he allowed himself to relish the feel of holding her hand.

 _If only…_ but the spell was broken when they looked at each other, and looked away, wrenching their hands apart. Hermione shuffled to the side a bit, and Draco, making a disgusted face for Crabbe and Goyle's benefit, backed away a bit.

Of course, the hippogriff bowed to Potter. Draco couldn't remember why he thought it wouldn't.

 _Potter always wins._

And that thought was the one churning through his mind as he made his next, very stupid, decision. After Potter had come down from the sky, flying the hippogriff, Hagrid renewed the offer of meeting a hippogriff, and the whole class surged ahead, heading for the different creatures.

But Malfoy made a beeline for the hippogriff Harry Potter had ridden.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione stepped back after the chestnut hippogriff bowed to her.

"Don't you want to pet it, Hermione?" Ron asked from behind her.

"No," she said, nervously looking at the sharp beak the hippogriff sported. "I'm perfectly fine."

Ron shrugged, and started inching toward the hippogriff, head up and keeping eye contact with the hippogriff.

But it wasn't Ron Hermione was watching. Over by Buckbeak, the hippogriff Harry had ridden earlier, Malfoy was bowing. When Buckbeak bowed back, Hermione inhaled sharply.

Something was wrong…she could feel it.

As the Slytherin swaggered toward the wild beast, he was running off his mouth. Hermione started walking, looking like she was observing the whole class to anyone outside her own head.

But she was marking a clear path to Buckbeak…and Malfoy.

When she was only a few meters away, pretending to watch Neville's attempts at ingratiating himself to the hippogriff, she heard a screech, and then a yell.

Crabbe and Goyle were shouting, gathered around a prone Malfoy, who was lying on the ground, blood soaking one of his arms.

"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled, convulsing on the grass as Hagrid tried to wrangle Buckbeak into a collar. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

Harry and Ron rushed over to stand on either side of Hermione.

"Do you really think he's dying?" Ron asked, sounding like Christmas came early.

"Just melodramatic," Hermione said, staring at the screaming boy with a furrowed brow.

"We aren't that lucky, Ron," Harry laughed, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Kidding, kidding," Harry said, raising his hands in the air. "Come one – class seems to be over, and I don't know if we want to be here when Malfoy's dad gets here."

Along with the rest of the class, the trio walked back to the castle, slightly subdued as the Slytherins and Gryffindors started snapping at each other, trying to place the blame.

"I'm going to go see if he's okay!" Pansy Parkinson screeched as soon as she stepped foot in the castle, and she and Crabbe and Goyle darted up the stairs toward the hospital wing.

"D'ya think he'll be alright?" Hermione asked, gazing off in the direction Pansy disappeared to. She missed Harry's answer, lost in her thoughts.

She wanted to be there. She wanted to be there with Pansy, making sure that Malfoy was okay. Only because if he weren't, it would mess things up for Hagrid, she told herself. That's all.

That's all.

But if she was going to be completely honest with herself…maybe it wasn't the only reason she wanted to go check up on Malfoy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Later that night, Harry and Ron proposed going down to see Hagrid, to talk to him about what was happening. Hermione begged off.

"I've got to go to the Hospital Wing," she told them.

Ron looked at her suspiciously. "Why?" he asked, as if he smelled a rat.

She pulled a blush from out of nowhere, thinking of walking in on Ron in his underwear. "Gir – girl stuff," she stuttered, looking down.

"Okay," Harry said easily, pulling Ron away. The ginger boy's ears were almost as red as his hair. "Hope you feel better, Hermione."

She waited until she could see them walking out on the grounds before getting up, and darting out of the portrait. She raced all the way to the hospital wing.

It was dim in there, only a small lamp illuminating Draco's bed, where his bandaged arm was supported on a pillow. In his other hand, he held a book.

"Malfoy," Hermione said without preamble.

"Granger," he said, putting the book down and looking at her like he had been expecting her. "I'm all right," he said. "Hurt for a bit, but I'm all right."

"You're so stupid," she said, blinking back tears. "So, so stupid. Worse than Harry. Worse than Ron."

"Wow," Draco exclaimed. "That's saying something."

"Oh, be quiet," Hermione shushed him.

"I'm injured, and you're here to make sure I'm okay, and you're telling me to be quiet?"

"I didn't come here to see if you were okay," Hermione said.

He looked at her disbelievingly.

"I didn't," she insisted.

"Then why did you come?"

Hermione stared at him uncertainly. "I…" she started. She really had no idea what had possessed her to come and visit Draco Malfoy, of all people, on his sick bed. Luckily, a distraction came in the form of Madam Pomfrey.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey said, coming in from her office. "Do you have a visitor?" Hermione and Draco froze, looking at her like two deer caught in headlights. "Ah, Miss Granger." The nurse smiled, then winked. "Should I leave you two alone for a minute?"

"No!" Hermione gasped. "No, it's quite alright, I didn't come here to see Dra – Malfoy, I came here to get..some…things…"

"Yes?" Madam Pomfrey said encouragingly, looking back and forth between the boy and girl. After a long pause, she spoke again. "What do you need, Hermione," she prompted.

"I – I need…" she stuttered, in an awful recreation of her encounter with Ron earlier. She looked sideways at Draco, who raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'go on'. She blushed this one real. "Feminine supplies," she said.

"Oh, all right," Madam Pomfrey said, bustling over to the cabinets. She pulled out a bag of pads, and a bag to put them in. "Well, let me get you fixed up."

"Hey," Draco whispered, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. "Nice excuse. Spur of the moment, was it?"

"No," she whispered back. "I had to use it on Ron earlier."

And she took the bag from Madam Pomfrey, thanking her and dancing out of the Hospital Wing as Draco broke out into gales of laughter behind her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N: Read and review:)**


	6. Chapter 6: Third Year, Part II

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and therefore everything in this fanfiction that you recognize.**

CHAPTER SIX: Third Year, Part II  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Potter didn't know.

Despite his miserable upbringing and ignorance of his past, Draco really thought that _someone_ would have told Potter that his very own godfather, his father's best friend, was responsible for his parents' deaths. But Potter didn't know, and oh how gleeful Draco was, milking his injury for all it was worth, and while Harry was scowling at him, dropping hints about the _horrible thing_ Sirius Black had done, all the while implying that Potter should do something about it.

The best day ever, according to Draco.

Hermione ignored him. Ever since she had gone to the hospital wing, she was ignoring him. It had been embarrassing enough to have to use the 'feminine issues' excuse with Ron, one of her best friends, but for some reason, using on Draco was so much worse.

She kept her head down in potions, even as Draco made himself insufferable, demanding that everyone wait on him hand and foot.

He was lobbying for Buckbeak's death. Harry and Ron had said Hagrid was terribly upset over what happened; them killing Buckbeak for Draco's mistake would make everything so much worse.

Hermione decided to ignore the Slytherin's existence for the foreseeable future. It was the only long-term solution she could come up with, that wouldn't horrify any of her friends, or his.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 _Boggarts._

Draco tuned Professor Lupin out as he stared at the closet door with growing apprehensive. Trust a professor that didn't even bother to dress himself correctly to come up with a lesson like this. Wordlessly, Draco melted into the back of the room, pushing Crabbe and Goyle in front of him so he could at least attempt to hide behind their bulk. He watched through the crack between them as Lupin showed the class how to defend themselves from the Boggart.

Then the professor asked for volunteers. Crabbe and Goyle separated, moving backwards, until they were behind Draco. On their way, they jostled Malfoy's injured arm, and he yelped. It wasn't a faked yelp – it really did hurt. Unfortunately, it brought him to the attention of Professor Lupin.

"Ah – Mr. Malfoy," the professor said. "Now, why don't you come on up here?"

"I didn't volunteer, sir," Malfoy said, acting surprised.

" _I_ am volunteering you, Mr. Malfoy. Please, come."

Sneering, Draco sauntered up to the closed door, his arm in the sling held close to him, the other swinging nonchalantly.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, what are you afraid of?" Lupin assumed a polite, interested expression.

"I couldn't say, not off the top of my head," Draco said insolently.

"Well, I need you to tell me your fear, so we can think of a way to make it laughable."

"I'll pass, sir," Draco said.

"Very well." Lupin had that same untrustworthy twinkle in his eye that Dumbledore so often sported as he drew his wand. "I suppose we'll do some learning in the field, then. Remember the word?"

"Yes." Draco's hand tightened on his wand as Lupin opened the closet door. He could practically hear his classmates breathing down his neck, waiting to see what Draco Malfoy was afraid of.

He placed an emotionless mask on his face as a polished designer shoe stepped out of the closet. It was followed by the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy, long blond hair impeccable.

He was dragging a broken and bloody Narcissa by the arm. Draco could feel his mind short-circuit, his vision tunneling to that blond hair, red running through it, blue eyes looking at him pleadingly.

"You see, Draco?" Lucius snarled without preamble. Draco could hear his housemates gasp and start whispering among themselves behind him. "You see what happens when you don't follow instructions? Do you see what happens when you _fail?"_ He pulled his wand out of nowhere, tossing Narcissa on the ground before him. "Did you really think there would be _no consequences_ for that _mess_ with the Hippogriff?"

"Mum…" Draco breathed, a flicker of fear crossing his countenance.

"Draco…" she said hoarsely. "Don't…I love you…Draco…"

"Your punishment, son." Lucius smiled cruelly, holding out his wand. "Kill her."

"No…" Draco breathed, shaking his head. Everyone else in the room was completely silent.

"Do it, Draco!" Lucius shouted. "Do it – or I will." His cruel grin was back.

Draco racked his brains, trying to remember what he knew of Boggarts. Finally, his mind snapped together, and he pointed his wand with his good arm. "Riddikulus!" he shouted, and Lucius' hair piled up on top of his head, a bird nesting in it, Narcissa disappearing into nothing.

Professor Lupin shot to attention, pulling himself together after gaping at the Boggart for far too long, in Draco's opinion.

"Well done, Draco!" he said. "Next! Come on, let's keep it moving!"

Draco moved to the back of the room, feeling as if his insides were turned to jelly. When he was standing behind Crabbe and Goyle once more, he relaxed a bit.

That was where Blaise found him, stony faced, staring at Professor Lupin. Blaise squeezed his friend's shoulder, no words needed.

"I need dirt," Draco said in a low voice, his gaze fixed upon the professor. "Can you get me some?"

"I'll see what I can do, mate," Blaise said, watching the professor warily. "I'll see what I can do."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If there was anything he disliked more than being defeated at Quidditch by Harry Potter (something he planned to avoid this year, what with his arm being injured and all), it was being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by a Crabbe and Goyle, ordered to do so by an irate Blaise Zabini, who was ordered to do so by Professor Snape. Who might have shared Blaise's feelings, but it was hard to say, as his expression was the same as the one he wore any other time.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Draco yelled as Crabbe and Goyle dumped him on the floor. He grabbed his arm, yelping, calling a worried Pansy to his side.

"We are all evacuating to the Great Hall," Professor Snape said, sans emotion. "It seems that there has been a disturbance in Gryffindor Tower."

Draco stiffened, scrambling to his feet. "Probably just a bunch of drunken idiots setting their common room on fire," Blaise sneered, looking Draco in the eye. "No-one for us to worry about."

"If the fire's about to spread to the rest of the school, I'd say there's something to worry about," Draco grumbled as they set off along the corridors with the rest of the House, following Professor Snape, tailed by Crabbe and Goyle.

"It's not a fire," Pansy said breathlessly, appearing by his side with Daphne Greengrass. "Sirius Black tried to get into Gryffindor Tower! He tore up the Fat Lady's portrait when she wouldn't let him in, I hear."

"But no one was hurt?" Draco asked, trying not to betray any concern for the golden lions.

"No," Pansy made a face. "Not that I would've minded much if the man rid us of Potter once and for all."

"My father expressed a similar sentiment," Draco chuckled, and Pansy scowled again as they arrived at the Great Hall to find dozens of purple sleeping bags waiting for them. "What an awful colour," he groused.

"Only one night," Blaise said. "Think of it as a muggle sleepover."

Draco looked at Blaise in confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he told Blaise.

"You don't have to," Blaise shrugged. "I do."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was harder to make fun of Potter for being afraid of Dementors after a few of them visited his Quidditch match, and he fell off his broom. Draco wasn't a monster; he did have some compassion, and he must have been exceptionally soft that weekend to feel sympathetic toward Potter.

But Potter's Dementor scare had sparked an idea. He gathered Crabbe and Goyle, and a few members of the Quidditch team.

"I had an idea," he said. "What if there were Dementors at Potter's next match, too?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco came back from Christmas break feeling revived. His arm was fully healed, and his father? His father was happy with him, very pleased at Draco's choice to pursue Hagrid and his hippogriff to the full extent of the law.

His mother had been quieter, and he got the feeling that Narcissa would rather Draco drop the whole affair, and let the hippogriff go free. Some parts of Draco felt that way too, but then he would see his father in his office, and his father would smile at him, and say, "I'm proud of your progress, son." And all his doubts would go away.

As long as his father was proud of him, his mother would be safe.

That was why Draco couldn't wait to go back to school, to rub it in Potter's face that his precious hippogriff was going to be killed, and there was nothing, _nothing,_ that Potter could do about it, because he was only an orphan, whereas Draco had his father, and his father's considerable wealth and influence, backing him.

He wrote his mother a letter the moment he got on the train, missing her already.

Afraid for her safety.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was less than a month after Christmas break, and already he was swamped. Draco snapped at all his friends enough for them to decide to just leave him alone when he had a book or parchment in hand and a formidable look in his face. That was how he came to be alone in the school library, without Crabbe and Goyle even.

He was grumbling to himself, his mood worsening and worsening as he went deeper and deeper into the library, and still couldn't find an empty table.

Finally, at the back of the library, he found a table with books on it, but no people. Draco dumped his own books on the table, pushing the others to the side. Whoever had been there would soon find him or herself looking for a new table when he returned.

Draco was halfway through his essay when he heard sniffling a few aisles over, followed by some hiccups, and the occasional half-sob. He tried to ignore it, but it kept going, grating on his nerves and making it impossible to concentrate. Finally, he snapped, getting up and walking over to the aisle the noises were coming from.

"Will you please find somewhere else – "

He stopped midsentence as he saw who was crying. "Oh, hey, Granger," he said, his voice cracking a bit."

"Go away, Malfoy," she said flatly.

"No," he returned. "I want to know why you're crying."

"It's nothing," she said, hastily wiping her eyes and pushing her hair back.

"Tell me."

Hermione sighed. Malfoy wanted to know what her issue was, fine. Maybe if she told him, he'd go away, and she could have the nice, alone cry that she had been having before he interrupted. "Fine," she said, and he slid down the bookshelf to sit on the floor next to her.

"Ron thinks my cat killed his rat, and of course, I'm wholly responsible for my cat's actions," she told him. "And before that, I turned in the Firebolt Harry had gotten anonymously for Christmas to Professor McGonagall, because I was worried Sirius Black had cursed it then sent it."

"You really are a teacher's pet, aren't you," Draco said.

"Shut up, Malfoy," was the response, and he realised that might not have been as comforting as he thought it was.

"It'll all be all right in the end," he said. "You three are as thick as thieves. It'll all smooth itself out."

"Will it?" she asked uncertainly. "I don't know."

Impulsively, Draco flung out an arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. "It will," he said. "I don't think Sirius Black is actually after Harry, anyway."

"Why not?" she asked, distracted from his close proximity by that little tidbit.

"Something my father said," Draco shrugged, making a face.

Hermione let it go at that, and the two sat there in companionable silence for a good while after that.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Psyching Potter out before his match did nothing at all. He just threw his own insults back, saying that Draco needed an extra arm on his to catch the Snitch.

Draco almost challenged Potter to a one on one at Malfoy Manor right then and there.

But he remembered he had stuff to do. More specifically, dressing up as Dementors with Crabbe and Goyle and Marcus Flint.

And it all went perfectly at first. Until Potter shot some type of misty thing at them, and Draco fell over in shock.

As the teachers converged on that spot, Draco scowled, looking up at the players in the sky.

 _One point for Potter._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On his way out on the next Hogsmeade weekend, Draco again found himself alone, without Crabbe and Goyle behind him. They were to meet him at the front gate. Draco needed some time to himself, away from Weasley's loud voice, detailing the event that had made him the center of attention, and away from Pansy and Daphne's snide comments about how the mudblood Gryffindor didn't seem to be hanging onto the Weasel's every word this time around.

When he turned the next corner, he quite literally ran into Hermione Granger, who was sobbing.

"Hey!" he said in surprise as she stumbled, then made as if to dodge him and move to the side. "What's up?"

"None of your business," she said stuffily.

"They're not worth it, Granger!" he called after her, deducing that Potty and the Weasel had something to do with her tears. She snarled behind her on her way up a flight of stairs.

Draco shrugged as he continued toward the exit.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He might've forgotten this moment with Hermione, had a certain incident not brought it to mind.

Crabbe, Goyle, and he had been taking a walk by the Shrieking Shack, when they came across Weasley, apparently standing on his own, talking to himself like the idiot he was.

"What are you doing, Weasley?" he sneered, the boy's presence interrupting his conversation, or, rather, monologue to Crabbe and Goyle.

And it was going wonderfully, until he was hit in the face with a pile of muck.

He set Crabbe and Goyle on the offender, although if it were a ghost, he couldn't help but be curious on how they would go about catching it.

It wasn't a ghost – at least, he didn't think so. But when Potter's head appeared out of thin air, he had been so surprised that he ran back to Hogwarts without a second thought, finding Snape and complaining right away.

Snape sent him to the showers with a sneer, Crabbe and Goyle following him out.

But he had been right. Potter _had_ been in Hogsmeade…and he was willing to bet that had been what Hermione was upset about.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Malfoy grouched his way through the rest of the weekend after he lost the Quidditch match to Potter, _again,_ the only bright spot being that the Hippogriff was to be executed soon, very soon.

 _Unfortunately, the poor creature seems to have lost its appeal,_ his father's letter read. Draco could practically hear the drawling sarcasm in Lucius' voice.

The shininess of that happiness was only slightly diminished by the fact that his father forbid his attendance.

And then it was fully extinguished when he found out that both the hippogriff _and_ Sirius Black escaped, both in the same night.

He didn't know how he could be the only one who saw that this wasn't just a coincidence.

"You're just so much smarter than us all," Blaise said sarcastically after Draco finished with his rant. Draco sneered, then took Crabbe and Goyle off for a walk.

He was done socializing for the day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This thought came back to him as he languished in the hospital wing, having taken a punch to the nose by one Hermione Granger. He gently touched his nose, then flinched back.

He wouldn't be surprised if it were broken. He scowled as he accepted a cloth from Madam Pomfrey, who then hurried into the next room.

Draco sat in the middle of a hospital cot, holding his nose in place with a cloth. He had come in over fifteen minutes earlier, ordering Crabbe and Goyle away as soon as possible…he hated them seeing him like this. Weak. Injured, by a girl. By _Hermione._

Where on earth was Madam Pomfrey? He thought irritably. He should tell his father about his treatment. He had a broken nose, and she couldn't be bothered to rush to fix it!

"Malfoy!" a voice shouted breathlessly, accompanied by a clatter of footsteps. Draco awkwardly maneuvered his head so he could see who was coming. Finally, whoever had shouted his name reached his side.

"No, don't bother," Hermione said as Draco contorted his neck to face her. Her hair was escaping a bun, frizzing out around her face. She had ink on her chin, and she was holding an open book with her wand holding the place.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, his contemptuous tone muffled by the towel he was holding over his nose.

"Lay back," she ordered. She pushed him on to his back, and grabbed the cloth he had been holding over his nose.

"Wha – " Draco hissed as she accidentally jostled the broken cartilage.

She winced. "Sorry…" She grabbed her wand and pointed it at him.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he protested. This girl had broken his nose not an hour earlier; he couldn't be blamed for being apprehensive about letting her near his face now.

"Fixing your nose," she said, slapping his hand away. She aimed her wand at his face. As discomforted as he was, he couldn't help but notice how pretty Hermione was when she focused. It was as if there was nothing in the world but the task at hand.

" _Epipsky_!" There was a crunch, and Draco yelped. He lay there for a minute, eyes closed tightly.

"D-Draco?" Hermione hesitantly moved closer to the motionless boy. "Oh god, did I do it wrong?"

Draco lay there, thinking. Since when had she called him Draco? He replayed the sound of her voice in his mind, and smiled.

"Malfoy, get up," she said, irritated now. "I know you're faking."

He sat up and stretched, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. Hermione's book lay next to him, and he picked it up. He smirked. "Back to Malfoy then, are we," he commented. He looked up just in time to see her turn a bright shade of red.

"I…you…oh, you're insufferable!" she sputtered. He laughed out loud.

"You love me anyway," he teased. They both froze as they realised who they were talking to.

 _He's not Harry or Ron_ , Hermione thought.

 _She's not Pansy_ , Draco thought.

 _Maybe…maybe that's a good thing_ …she thought.

 _Definitely not Pansy_ , he thought.

They both turned away.

Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to enter. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I hear you've come to visit again…" she started, then stopped as she saw Hermione. "Miss…Miss Granger?" she said, shocked.

The girl snatched the book from Draco. Hugging it to her chest, she backed toward the door.

"I…I was just leaving…" She whirled around and fled. The nurse turned to Draco.

He raised his eyebrows. "My nose is fixed," he said, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the pointy appendage. He jumped off the bed and walked to the door. "Thanks anyway," he called on his way out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco smirked as he leaned into a compartment that still wasn't empty yet, never mind that the train had been stopped for over fifteen minutes.

Hermione Granger sat in the compartment, her trunk open, searching for something.

"What've you lost, Granger?" he asked. "I hope it's something that can be found." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh, you," she said, not giving her full attention. "My trunk was light. I'm checking to make sure that I didn't leave any of my books behind."

She closed the trunk.

"So, you didn't leave any books?" He grinned.

"No," she huffed, picking up one end of her trunk, studiously _not_ noticing how nice Draco looked in his muggle shirt and jeans.

Draco moved to the back of the trunk, helping her move it out into the corridor.

"If this is light," he puffed, "I don't want to know what your trunk is like heavy, Granger."

She dropped the trunk just inside the train's exit door.

"Thank you for your help," she said.

"The pleasure was mine," Draco said softly. They stood there, looking at each other across the trunk, for what seemed like hours. Then the train's five-minute warning whistle sounded, and Hermione jumped.

"You can go now," she said.

"Thank you for your permission," Draco laughed, saluting her and meandering off down the corridor, looking for the next door to come out of.

"Hey!" she shouted behind him. He turned and looked at her questioning. "I'm, um, I'm sorry about your nose."

"I'm sorry about Ron's rat."

And with that, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy parted ways for the summer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 **a/n: Read and Review :)**


	7. Chapter 7: Fourth Year, Part I

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and therefore everything in this fanfiction that you recognize.**

CHAPTER SEVEN: Third Year, Part II  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco was as excited as he could ever remember being when his father told him they were going to go to the Quidditch Cup that summer. He couldn't wait to see his idols play.

The only thing better than flying, playing quidditch, feeling the wind in your face and tasting the freedom in the air was going to go see professionals, masters of the trade.

But he quickly discovered that he was _not_ a fan of travel by Portkey, when, upon arrival, he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pile of used Portkeys.

"It's all right," Narcissa soothed him, wrapping an arm around her son and offering him her handkerchief to wipe his mouth. Draco hid his face, waiting until he was ready to present a presentable face to the world.

This was an extremely inauspicious beginning to his vacation. Lucius, standing tall next to Narcissa, aimed a scathing look of disgust at his son when Draco emerged from Narcissa's handkerchief. The boy looked down in shame, cheeks reddening, as Lucius took instructions from the elderly wizard supervising the Portkeys.

"It will be all right, Draco," Narcissa told him in a whisper, hugging her son to her side as they began to walk down the grass, towards a muggle holding a clipboard.

"Don't coddle the boy, Narcissa," Lucius said coldly, hands behind his back. "He won't learn that way."

Draco shuddered at the thought of how his father expected him to learn. Narcissa quickly reached for her pocket, pulling out a small bag full of coins.

"Go buy some trinkets," she said, a smile for her son lighting up her eyes. "I'm sure there'll be plenty to choose from."

Draco grinned, and kissed his mother on the cheek, silently thanking her for the reprieve. He then walked away from his parents with a brisk step, taking in the scenery.

He missed seeing his father finish paying the muggle, and grab onto his mother with a bruising grip.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco looked around, excitement bursting out of him as they ascended to the Top Box.

"Nothing but the best for the Malfoys," Lucius said, a rare smile gracing his face. Narcissa smiled, head down. As his father shot him a look, Draco schooled his expression to casual disinterest, even though his insides were fluttering.

"Ah, and here's Lucius!" Draco heard a familiar voice as they entered. Sure enough, there was Minister Fudge…with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and the Weasleys.

Draco stiffened, and Narcissa's nose wrinkled in disgust as she took in the unkempt, red-haired family. But neither of them said anything. No matter how outspoken Draco was at school, this was his father's territory. If he felt the need to demean the Weasleys or Potter, well, that was his right. Draco would wait until school…or the Hogwarts Express. Whenever he saw Weasley next.

"I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?" Lucius was saying, gesturing to his small family. Draco tuned out the conversation as Fudge introduced Lucius to the Bulgarian Minister, taking in the whole Quidditch field. His attention wandered over to the Weasleys, where Hermione was sitting, staring at Lucius and Narcissa. Draco's wandering mind focused in on the witch's hair. The light caught the separate strands, making some flicker gold, and others shine dark brown.

Hermione, noticing Draco's attention, made a face at him. He grinned back mockingly.

The grin soon faded as he shot a glance at his father, hoping he hadn't seen that last interaction. Luckily, or unluckily, Lucius was busy with Arthur Weasley. Draco smiled inwardly as he and his family took a seat, leaving the man sputtering.

Draco took out his Omnioculars as the match began, and settled in to watch.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco was rudely awakened in what seemed like the middle of the night by a house elf shaking him.

"What are you doing?" he asked grumpily. The little creature grabbed its ears, crouching.

"Mistress is telling me to get Master Draco up," he croaked. "Mistress is telling Master Draco to go into the woods."

Draco groaned. For a moment, he debated rolling back over and going back to sleep, but decided against it.

Narcissa always had her reasons, and she had never given _him_ a reason not to trust her implicitly. Draco threw on some pants and a jacket, then trudged out of the tent into the woods. The early morning was completely silent, no sign of the after-party save some partiers passed out into the grass.

Draco had gotten about half a mile into the woods, sitting down at the base of a tree, when the screaming started.

Draco stood, tensed against any danger. The woods were as dark as ever, but it wasn't the dark Draco feared. He paced back and forth for a few minutes listening to screams and shouts and laughter, and people trampling through the woods, trying to get away from whatever was causing the screams at the campsite.

Draco stayed put. He leaned against a tree trunk, whistling under his breath. His whistles stopped as he heard a group of people stumbling much closer to him than the others had been. He stood still, trying to blend into the darkness.

"Agh!"

"What happened?" a frightened voice asked. "Ron, where are you?"

Draco groaned mentally, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the tree. He knew who he was dealing with now.

"Oh, this is stupid – Lumos!"

A bright light shot into existence, illuminating the faces of Harry Potter and Hermione, and the Weasel, laying on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," the red-haired boy muttered defensively.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," Draco drawled. The three spun to face him, and he smirked, folding his arms.

Draco raised his eyebrows, unsurprised as Ron displayed his language skills.

"Language, Weasley," he said, somewhat impressed.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here? Are you _watching_?" Hermione's nose wrinkled.

Draco didn't know what he was supposedly watching, and he studiously avoided looking through the gap in the trees that Hermione was indignantly pointing to. But he knew there was only one group that could cause the kind of panic he was seeing now in the wizarding world. And it was always one of two things that the drama was about.

"Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't want her spotted, would you?"

Insults never fail. He laughed as the trio hurried away from him, farther away from the chaos in the camping grounds. He returned his gaze to the ground as the darkness took over again.

Hermione was going in the right direction – away. Draco sat down to wait for his mother.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Draco?!" Narcissa ran between the roots of the trees, an edge of hysteria in her voice, holding a glowing wand in her hand. As she caught a glimpse of Draco, she changed course, heading for her son.

"Mum…Mum, what's going on?" Seeing his mother's pale face, Draco overcame his fear, straining to see what was happening down in the camp.

"Draco, we need to go now." Narcissa put an arm around her son, wand in hand, ready to apparate.

"What about Father?" Draco protested, still trying to see around the trees. His father couldn't be a part of what was happening right now. He wouldn't…

"He wants us to go home, Draco," Narcissa said sharply, holding her son tighter. "He'll meet us there."

Draco relented, grabbing his mother's arm. Just before they disappeared from the forest, he was finally able to see what was happening in the camp.

And he had heard enough of his father's stories of the 'good old days' to know exactly what was happening.

 _Hermione went away from the camp,_ he reassured himself. _She will be fine._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On the day he was to return to school, Draco hauled his trunk down the stair to the main hall, setting it in front of the door. Leaving it there, he pocketed his wand, and went to knock on the door of his father's study.

"What is it, Draco," his father said in a tense voice.

"I was wondering if I am to get a ride to the station," Draco said.

"Ah." Lucius opened the door, allowing Draco to enter. The boy stopped when he noticed an overweight, rat-like man sitting on the sofa across from his mother.

"I didn't realise you had company…" Draco said uncertainly, bowing his head to the stranger.

"I'll take him, Lucius," Narcissa said, getting up smoothly. She shook hands with the stranger, who smiled, watery blue eyes blinking. Lucius kissed his wife on the cheek, then nodded.

"Come along, Draco."

With one last look at the man on his father's sofa, Draco turned and followed his mother out of the study.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco almost got on the train without saying goodbye to his mum.

His mother and he had the good fortune to have arrived at the platform only moments behind a head of familiar hair. Draco started following the girl, unintentionally of course. And so, when Hermione boarded the train, he almost left his mother and his luggage behind.

"Draco, dear!" Narcissa called when he had one foot on the step. He looked back to see his mother smiling, a sparkle in her eye that he hadn't seen for a very long time. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you forgetting something?" she laughed.

Draco gazed back at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, before she pointed down to the trunk at her side.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, quickly trotting away from the train to his mother. He lifted the trunk with a quick levitation spell, grabbing his eagle owl's cage before turning to his mother. Narcissa didn't even have to bend down for him to kiss her on the cheek, and Draco noticed how short his mother was getting for the first time.

How fragile.

On an impulse, he set down his eagle owl and grabbed her hand.

"Will you be okay?" he whispered, eyes on her face, searching for any bit of hidden emotion.

Her brows crinkled for just a second before smoothing out. "I'll be fine, Draco," she reassured him tremulously. "You just – just focus on your studies. And write me, darling. Write often."

Draco nodded. Just then, the warning whistle sounded, a piercing sound. He flinched, then smiled at his mum. "Bye," he said.

"Bye," she whispered. He spun around and raced to the train.

Just before the train started moving, he looked back, and waved.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was halfway through the journey before Ron even thought to change into his school robes. Rolling her eyes, Hermione excused herself from their compartment before she could be asked to leave. She grabbed a book and her wand. Might as well practice, she told herself as she slid to sit on the ground, leaning against the wall.

She was a chapter into the Charms book when a voice with a posh accent interrupted her.

"Well, well, well," it said. "What have we here?"

"Sod off, Malfoy," she said without even looking up.

"Come now, that's no way to treat a friend," he said, sliding down to sit next to her. She still refused to look at him. "Whatcha reading?" he asked, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Move," she ordered, but he noticed that _she_ didn't move away from _him_.

"No," he pouted. "I ditched Greg and Vincent. I think I deserve _some_ decent company on this train ride from hell, don't you?"

"I didn't think you'd consider me decent company," she fired back at him. "What with my filthy blood and all."

"That's what you think," Draco said. His instinct was to move away from her. But he knew that if he moved now, she would be offended and hurt.

She might even cry. Now that would be a disaster. Draco had no idea _what_ to do with girls who were actually crying, not faking like Pansy was apt to do when she didn't get her way.

"Do you cry?" he asked abruptly.

"Why do you ask?" she snorted.

"Because Daphne does," he told her. "Pansy fakes, but Daphne really does cry when her feelings are hurt. She doesn't even try to hide it."

"Well," Hermione said. "What an interesting tidbit." She turned a page in her charms textbook.

"You're not even going to converse with me?" Draco whined.

"No," she said. "Ron's in there changing; that's the only reason I'm out here."

Draco chuckled. "Didn't want to see ginger and pasty shirtless, did we?"

Hermione scowled. "The point is, they're going to open this door next to us any minute, calling me back in. What are they going to say when they see me acting like 'best friends' with their mortal enemy?"

Draco still didn't move. "Let them," he said indifferently, closing his eyes.

"Not to mention all of these _other_ doors in the corridor," Hermione continued. "Any one of those doors could open, too. And those people? They're likely to gossip if they see you here with me. Gossip spreads, Malfoy. What would your little _pureblood_ friends down in Slytherin say when the gossip reaches them? Hm?" Draco sighed. "What would your _parents_ say?"

At that, he finally moved away, putting a couple inches between them. "You have a point," he said in a cold voice, before getting up. "Good day, Miss Granger," he said, looking down at her. Then he strode off down the hallway, heels clicking against the floor.

Hermione sat there for a moment, listening to the train move.

She had gotten what she wanted. He had left.

So why was she so upset?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He hadn't been kidding when he told Hermione that this train ride was the train ride from hell.

Greg was quiet. Vincent was quiet. Blaise was quiet. Daphne was quiet. He was quiet.

Pansy was not.

She chattered all through the ride, barely stopping when Draco left, not even acknowledging when he returned, nattering on about clothes, and the beautiful pink dress robes she had bought, because her mother had inside information and apparently something special was happening at Hogwarts this year, and –

"Will you shut up?" Blaise snapped. Pansy was cut off mid-sentence. She froze, head down, staring at her hands neatly folded in her lap.

The silence was deafening, the only sound the rattle of the train steaming along the tracks.

Finally, Draco reached out a hand. Grabbing Pansy, he pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arm around her. She looked up, and he could see the fear and unrest lurking in her eyes. The feelings that she had been trying to cover up with talk.

"It'll be fine," he said in a hushed voice. His words echoed around the silent compartment, reaching all five of the worried teens. "We'll all be fine."

"Will we?" Blaise stood abruptly, moving to the door. Opening it, he turned to face the five in the compartment he was leaving. "I'm not so sure."

It seemed that Blaise had taken the air out of the cabin with him. Pansy couldn't stand the silence. At the same time, she was afraid to fill it with talk again. Afraid that Blaise was not the only one who would rather she shut up.

After a moment, she excused herself, squeezing Draco's hand once before she left.

Alone in his seat, Draco stared out of the window and thought of Hermione.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione was mildly horrified when she saw who was going to be their Defense Against the Dark Arts 'teacher' this year. The old Auror looked as if he were carved from wood like his leg, all gnarled and hardened.

The flask at his side didn't help her first impression.

"Wonderful," she muttered under her breath, before pasting on a grin and applauding the man politely.

Grey eyes met brown across their tables. Hermione rolled her eyes, and he smiled.

Mudblood, he had called her. But he had been all politeness in the train car. Perhaps this year was the year that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger began to get along.

Then she looked at the two boys she was sitting with, and she laughed at herself.

No way would Harry Potter and Ron Weasley agree to play nice with the Prince of Slytherin.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco was filled with a rightful fury when he found out that Quidditch was canceled.

This year was supposed to be his year! Second and third year had been disastrous, with Potter defying the odds to humiliate and defeat Draco again and again. Draco had spent the whole summer in the garden, flying and practicing while his mother looked on and his father conducted meetings in the library.

Draco didn't want to think about who, exactly, his father had been meeting with.

The fourth year was slightly mollified when he realised that instead of Quidditch, there would be a tournament between all three magical schools, hosted by Hogwarts.

A tournament that had previously been cancelled because of the deaths.

Draco shuddered, and turned his attention to the other news. A Yule Ball would also be thrown, it appeared. That sent the entire hall into a flurry of whispers, girls excitedly speculating about who would ask who, and who they would go with.

Daphne was whispering. Pansy was not.

Draco glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. She was gazing in the same direction that he was apt to stare at; toward the Gryffindor table, directly across from them. At the trio of friends that had begun to earn the moniker, 'the Golden Trio'.

Draco was always looking at Hermione when he happened to peek in that direction.

Pansy's eyes were fixed on a person to the right of Hermione.

Draco suppressed a groan when he realised who Pansy was looking at.

This could not be allowed. This must be stopped. By any means possible.

Taking a deep breath, he accepted the inevitability of the best course of action.

"Yule ball with me?" Draco asked, swiveling on the bench to face the girl next to him. Pansy jumped, the wishful look on her face fading as she looked at Draco.

"Hm?" she said.

"Or are you waiting for someone else to ask you," he continued quietly, his eyes flicking toward the Gryffindor table. Where Hermione was sitting.

Where Harry Potter was sitting.

"No!" Pansy hissed defensively. "Never. I would be thrilled to go to the ball with you, Draco."

"Mhm," he murmured, unconvinced as he returned to his previous position, with its perfect view. Pansy pinched him.

"Are you sure you want to go with me?" she whispered, leaning in close to his ear. "Or would you rather go with…another…girl?"

Draco flinched. "Can't," he muttered, ladling some soup onto his plate. "You know why."

"And you know why I can't," Pansy replied, pouring herself some water. "So I think this conversation is over."

"Fine." He was perfectly fine with that. Pansy was far too perceptive for her own good, but then, so was he. And they both would keep the other's secrets until their dying breath.

Draco just hoped it didn't come to that.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 **a/n: Read and Review :)**


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